


If I were a bird and you were the sky

by EtoileGarden



Category: Queen's Thief - Fandom, The Queen's Thief, Thick as Thieves - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Hiking, M/M, Sex, relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-18
Updated: 2017-11-09
Packaged: 2018-11-15 13:38:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 29,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11232126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EtoileGarden/pseuds/EtoileGarden
Summary: Days in the mountainMostly canon compliant





	1. Mountain Air

**Author's Note:**

> I'm planning on this being a multi-chapter thing. Bear with me. 
> 
> The lines and plot for the Immakuk and Ennikar story are blatantly stolen from the Epic of Gilgamesh.

It wasn’t until our second day climbing the Taymets did I realise I was enjoying myself.   
Somehow I felt removed from our journey, as if our destination of Zaboar and then Attolia was in some other part of reality and we were in another bubble of it which was only the two of us, elbow to elbow. I could almost pretend that we were two very different people than we were, two friends on a ridiculous jaunt up a mountain. I know Costis felt the same, even if it was something neither of us truly knew how to voice - he was more relaxed, chatted easier as we walked, laughed louder. 

My legs were stronger than they had ever been, and even if I was still exhausted with the constant walking and climbing, it was no longer overwhelming. 

The further we walked, the colder we got as we trailed higher and higher into the sky. Costis, who had jogged a short distance ahead so as to look out over the way we had come from a point clear from brush, informed me that the view was absolutely stunning. He was nothing but a dark smudge against the bright sunlit background that was the clearing, and I grinned, squinted at the beautiful blur, and agreed.   
When I caught up with him, he was standing at his ease, still staring out over the land, and I took the opportunity to sit down on a nearby rock, warm with the sun. Although my body was warm from the walking, my skin was chilled by the sharp edge of the air, and the warmth under me was very welcome. 

“Should we eat some lunch then?” Costis asks, turning now and dropping down heavily into the dirt beside me as he shrugs off his bag and rummages inside.   
“Please,” I replied, pulling my own bag off and stretching out my sore muscles. It was a good feeling, a hard worked for feeling - painful but somehow pleasurable.   
Costis handed me cheese, bread, some strips of dry meat, then leaned back against my rock until his head rested on my thigh, his legs stretched out in front of him.   
We ate slowly with little speaking, the both of us busy filling our stomachs and basking in the sun. I liked to imagine that I was someone else in a moment like this - that I was pausing in my everyday work to eat lunch so serenely simple, that I would always be surrounded by such beauty.   
“Are you warm enough walking?” Costis asks me, tipping his head back on my leg so he is staring up at me. He is still chewing meat in his mouth as he talks.   
I tug at his curls, “Close your mouth while you chew,” I reprimand him, “You’re disgusting-”  
I don’t speak harshly, and Costis grins at me, not closing his mouth, “I am Attolian after all, we are all barbarians I think,” he says, enunciating his words in his own tongue and speaking slowly just so his mouth is all the more open. I bend over him so he can see my glare more clearly, “I had higher hopes for you,” I tell him, “After all, you are well enough impressed with my skill at languages.”  
Costis finishes his mouthful with his mouth closed, still smiling.   
“So?” He asks me again, “Are you warm enough?”   
I had been too busy teasing him, and I flushed as I realised I had just ignored his question the first time.   
“Yes, It’s a bit cool when we stop walking, but otherwise I’m fine,” I tell him and he nods.   
“Let me know if you get too cold while walking, we can stop to put our spare shirts on as well.”   
I push at his head, “We should get back to it then,” I tell him and he nods again but does not move. I tug his curls again, press my cold fingers against his face.   
“Costis,” I tell him firmly, “Your big head is making my leg dead. If you don’t get up soon I won’t be able to walk at all, and you’ll have to carry me and both our bags.”   
Costis sits up, “I could do that easily,” he tells me, smirking, and I roll my eyes at his boasts.  
“Of course you can,” I reply, as sarcastic as I can.   
We both stand up, me a little stiffly, him with insulting ease, and when we have our bags re-positioned and slung round our bodies he steps suddenly close to me and scoops me up.   
I yell, partly in shock, partly in mock outrage. He has me in a cradle hold, and though I’m sure he’s not going to drop me, I feel very unstable.   
“Put me down,” I tell him firmly, and he tightens his hold on me.   
“You’re very light,” he replies, hefts me a little higher for emphasis, “I could probably carry you up the less steep paths.”   
I consider calling him out on this, telling him to prove it. It would mean that I wouldn’t have to walk, and I would be much warmer in his arms than out of them.   
“I am sure you could,” I grumble, tugging at his arms, and wriggling, though not too much because I did not want to be dropped. “But let’s not test that.” 

He puts me down, and I shove him. He shoves me back and I grab onto him so as not to fall into a bush.   
“You are a child,” I tell him. 

By the time evening is falling, we are walking very slowly, keeping our eyes peeled for a good place to stop for the night. Costis’ arms are full of bracken and small branches that I had been collecting and piling onto him as we walked. My fingertips were numb with the cold and I was insistent that we light a fire as soon as possible.   
We walked past the cave at first, but Costis realised after a few more steps and ducked back to look it over. I stood where I was and watched.   
“No lions?” I asked, and he laughed at me.   
“No lions.” 

We had more bread and cheese that night, toasted over the flames. We sat as close to our small fire as we could without endangering our blankets with the sparks. Costis seemed to be feeling the cold more sharply than I was, and I looked him over, bemused.   
While I was content enough, my skin warm from the heat of the fire and my stomach warm with melted cheese and crisp bread, Costis was tugging the blanket tighter around himself and glaring at out the darkening night.   
“Cold?” I ask him, “I thought your… greater mass would keep you warm.”   
Costis gave me a look, and then shrugged.   
“Attolia is very warm, even in the winter we don’t get snow, and so far the Empire has been warm enough as well. I am not used to chilly weather.”   
It’s a very sensible answer, and I reach out a warm hand to press against his skin.   
“You’re warmer than I am,” I point out, eyebrows raised.   
“So,” he says, “Maybe I just feel it more. Are you not cold?”   
I shake my head, then shift onto my knees to shuffle closer to him until we are pressed side to side. “I’ll lend you some of my warmth,” I offer, aware that my skin is probably cool against his. Costis only smiles, drops his arm over my shoulders so his blanket covers me as well. I wonder if I am being too obvious. I wonder if I am being too subtle. 

We talk of nothing in particular until we are both yawning and the fire is nothing but glowing coals. I wait until Costis has laid out his blanket, then kneel down next to him.   
“We might as well sleep close tonight,” I say, “for warmth.”   
He agrees, and we sort out our blankets together to cover the both of us equally. I press myself up against his side and he shifts to offer his shoulder to me as a cushion.   
“Don’t complain if your arm goes dead,” I tell him, shifting up until I am caught between his arm and his side, and he grunts in reply, eyes already closed.   
I never understand how he goes to sleep so easily.   
I wait until his breathing is heavy and even, then lift my hand from my side to reach out across his chest until I am holding him just as much as he is holding me. 

Costis had not seemed to think my closeness was anything out of the ordinary - I assume he had co-slept with other soldiers to conserve heat. He was in the army, he could not afford to be shy about physical touch.   
I’m not sure when I fell asleep, but when I wake I am still pressed against Costis’ side. I can feel his breath in my hair. I’m stiff and a little sore like I always am after waking on the ground, but I’m warm all the way through, except for the skin of my face which is exposed to the cold air. When I open my eyes, I feel Costis stir almost immediately, as if he had been waiting for me to wake up before he moved.   
“Breakfast?” He asked, and I nod even though I have no intentions of getting up into the cold air. Sadly, he does. He gently rolls me off of his arm, then slides out from under the blankets to go to our packs. I watch him through sleep bleary eyes. He is close enough that I can see the skin of his forearms prickle with goosebumps, the puffs of heat he breathes out in the coldness, the almost imperceptible shiver. He does not complain. I stand up, pulling the blankets around myself, and trail the whole makeshift bed over to where he is kneeling at our packs. I lean down, drape my arms and the blankets over his shoulder, press against his back already cold to the touch.   
He leans into the warmth but says, “We have to get used to the cold sometime, Kamet.”   
I do not remove myself, and he hands me my breakfast over his shoulder. It is an awkward position, but I stay there, eat right in his ear, drop crumbs down the front of his shirt. 

The day passes uneventfully and ends again with our sharing warmth during the night. The cold had swiftly sharpened, and my desire to be sleeping close to him was more than half due to my freezing skin. 

It’s still too cold for comfort when we start walking again the following morning, but our muscles warm up quickly. The path we are following is steep, but well kept and it’s easy to walk it while talking, no need to constantly watch our feet.   
“Do you like being a soldier?” I ask him between pants after a particularly steep stretch. I am bent over catching my breath, Costis is standing waiting for me to catch my breath, and taking a quick drink.   
“I suppose I do,” He replies easily as I straighten up and hold my hand out for the waterskin he had just drunk from.  
“You suppose?” I ask, lifting the skin to my lips.  
“I enjoy a lot of the work,” he tells me, shrugging, “And I very much don’t enjoy a lot of the work.”   
It’s a very solid answer, in that it does not at all answer my question but also answers my question.   
“Which bits do you enjoy?” I hand him back the skin, and motion that we should continue walking, though my breath is still a little ragged. He lets me set the pace.   
“I have very good friends in the guard, men I trust with my life. I had never experienced loyalty on such a scale before I was recruited. I enjoy working for something I believe in, doing things that I can usually see the outcome of.”   
“You believe in your country’s wars?”   
He did not strike me as the kind of man who enjoyed battle or all the unnecessary death that went with it.   
“I believe that they are necessary to secure our safety and freedom,” he answers, glancing down at me as he spoke, as if he thinks this answer will speak to me.   
I think of all those who had died to secure my safety and freedom. Nahuseresh, all his slaves, Namreen, slavers, far too many caggi- it was not the same. I had certainly not asked to be freed, nor had I asked for these deaths.   
“You don’t think they are a waste of resources and life?” I persisted, “That it would not be easier to concede to either the greater powers or the empire? Maybe Attolia would no longer be the same as it was, but at least it would be safe and free.”   
I, I thought, had conceded to the greater powers of fear by going with Costis. It had been an attempt on my behalf to not waste my life.   
“I think most people would prefer to go without the waste of resources and life,” Costis says, his voice is a little stiff and I glance up at him, “But I don’t believe that Attolia, Eddis, or Sounis would be safer or even free under the thumb of the empire or the greater powers.”   
He’s frowning heavily, not looking at me. “If my king was to hand our country over to your emperor, my people would become entirely okloi, would become enslaved. We might not have such an impressive history as the empire, but we still have a history and a culture that would be erased.”   
I have upset him. I could try and persuade him here that they could still be Attolians, still have land and power, but I knew very well that in essence he was right. There’s no point in telling him to think about the future generations who would benefit from the advances of the empire, who would not care if they had once been Attolian. He was thinking about his own family, about his king, his friends. If the empire took over I was sure many of them would die, even if it was a so called friendly take over.   
We walk in silence for a few minutes in which he does not look at me even once. His pace quickens and I’m all but trotting to keep up with him. Eventually I reach out and tug at his sleeve and he stops so quickly that I stumble.   
“I’m sorry,” I offer, and he still doesn’t look at me. He shakes his head and frowns at the path ahead of us.   
“I don’t understand,” he says at last.   
“Understand what?”   
“You. How you are so sure that being enslaved by the mede is a good thing, even after what they have done to you.” He speaks guardedly - I’m unsure if it is because he does not want to offend me or if he does not want to speak to me.   
I am offended.   
“Nahuseresh educated me,” I say sharply, “Took me from a life of poverty and educated me far better than most people you will ever meet. I have lived my entire life in comfort, good food, soft beds, respect even. That is what the empire has done for me.”   
Now I am the one not looking at Costis. I can feel his gaze burning into me and I stare at the ground at our feet.   
“So, so, so,” he says, voice low and deliberate. “I am not so sure that those I know would prefer to speak five languages and sleep in a soft bed if it meant being taken from their families and friends, being beaten and abused until they are expensively submissive enough to be valuable. Maybe the people I know and love are stupid to you, but they are freer than you are to choose their stupidity. ”   
His words sting. I wish we were the two friends on a hike, having nothing so volatile to talk about. I can’t tell if he is overreacting or if I am overreacting. I suspect that it might be me, and that my pride was only making things uncomfortable and generally worse.   
I want to point out that plenty of people in Attolia are born into poverty and don’t get to choose to have any sort of education. I nod, heft my pack, and wave awkwardly at the path.   
“We should keep going,” I say, and before I have finished speaking, Costis is walking away just as fast as before.   
I hang my head miserably and follow.   
He slows down before my lungs give out, but stays a few steps ahead of me, doesn’t turn back to look at me trailing behind him.   
My enjoyment of the mountains entirely gone, I can’t even bring myself to appreciate the view, the sweet air, the pale sun.   
I am just beginning to think that he plans to barrel on through the day without stopping for lunch so as not to have to look at me and my stupid mouth, when he pauses in a clearing.   
He sits without speaking to me, keeps his face turned away as he pulls out food and hands some to me.  
It is a far cry from the day before when he ate with his head in my lap. I sit opposite him, giving him the opportunity to look up at me if he wants, but he doesn’t. As soon as I swallow my last mouthful, he is standing again, and we continue walking.   
I plod along behind him, staring at his heels, wondering if he intends to not speak to me ever again. I think he is stubborn enough to manage it. I don’t know what I can say to him to ease this over. I don’t want to apologise again without feeling as if I am admitting that he is of course entirely right. I wish he wasn’t so angry. I wish he would just let his anger out and yell at me so he can get back to his usual easy nature. I wonder if I ought to provoke him more until he yells at me. However, if he yells at me there is a good chance that I will cry, either out of fear or embarrassment. I cannot help but think of the last time I had made him so angry at me, of his hands around my throat until I couldn’t even think to be scared anymore. I do not think he would ever do that again, his remorse had been so sincere. Still, I let myself fall another step behind him, the skin of my neck tingling.   
I don’t know how long we walked like that, feet apart and the silence painful, but it felt like months.   
I am covered in sweat, having had to work a lot harder to keep up with Costis’ pace, and am watching my feet carefully when I bump into Costis’ chest. I stumble backwards, and he reaches out to steady me. I am still too anxious for even that and I yank myself out of his grip, my terror laid out obviously on my face before I can quickly smooth my expression over.   
I stare at his knees, wipe the sweat from my face.   
“Kamet.” his voice is no longer knife edged, but I can’t work out the undertone.   
I stare at his knees harder.   
“I shouldn’t have walked so fast,” he says, “That was unkind of me.”   
I close my eyes, curse my panting breath.   
“I shouldn’t have made assumptions about you,” he continues, “that is not my right,” he pauses, “you are of course welcome to your opinions of the empire. I do not want to fight you over it.”  
Surely he is not going to give up so easily, I think, I have offended him right down to his moral core and yet he still extends the olive branch to me. I note that he has not apologised, that he obviously still thinks he is entirely in the right.   
I cannot open my eyes.   
“Kamet?” 

“You’re wrong,” I say, eyes still firmly closed. I am so angry. I can feel it bubbling in my chest. Costis does not speak. “You have every right to make assumptions about me, as I have every right to have my selfish opinions of the empire.” I am furious at myself. Costis still does not speak, and I am grateful to not be interrupted. “You are right - if the empire takes over your country it will no longer be your country. All of you will be lower class, many of you will die, too many of you will be enslaved one way or another. I don’t even want to think of what will happen to your king and his guards-” (you) “-but it is inevitable, isn’t it?” I finally open my eyes, look up at him, desperate. “No one in the empire doubts it. The little peninsula will be taken, and wouldn’t it be easier to try and go the way with as little casualties as possible? If you are going to be a slave, surely it is preferable to be a slave with a good life and a soft bed?”   
I think he understands me. He does not look angry anymore, just sad. 

“Attolia believes it will survive if we fight,” he says, “And I believe my king when he tells me the gods will not let us be overrun. I have to have faith in my king and my gods, Kamet, or else I will have faith in nothing.”   
I wonder if he thinks I have faith in nothing. I drop my eyes from his face again.  
“My gods do not speak to me to fill me with such assurance,” I say, wishing they would.   
He reaches for me again and this time I do not pull away. He rests his hand on my shoulder and I tip my head until my cheek presses into his knuckles, icy cold against my emotion flushed skin.   
“I know you have witnessed the empire absorb so many places just like Attolia,” Costis says softly, “that it seems like there is no other way for this to pan out. But do you truly believe that they are better off that way?”   
If he doesn’t want to fight about this, he’s not really going about it in the best way by asking me for my opinion. I close my eyes. I think of Setra, a land which I don’t belong to and which doesn’t belong to me. I think of my mother, who did belong to Setra. I think of the temple which I liked to imagine still standing, though I knew it would have been destroyed, the space turned to something more useful. I thought of myself, and my pride, and my inability to belong anywhere, not even to myself even with my master dead.   
I shook my head.   
“So,” he says, “Maybe the gods think it is time to fight back. Even if it is just with one freed slave at a time,” he turns his hand under my cheek to cup my face, “If you can be free, Kamet, I believe Attolia can also.”   
It is such a fragile thing to pin such a large hope on, I think, especially considering I am not truly free yet. I don’t say this. I nod.   
“I want to be free,” I say stupidly, but Costis only looks at me seriously.   
“You will be,” he says, “you are.”   
There are so many things that amaze me about Costis. The fact that he can so confidently reassure me and comfort me is one of these things. Another is that he is willing to even after we have been cruel to each other.  
We stand a moment longer, me leaning into his hand until he finally speaks again.   
“We need to keep moving, we shouldn’t be so exposed here when night starts to fall.”   
I nod, move to pull away from him, but he holds me still.   
“I am sorry for upsetting you,” he tells me, “I acted childishly.”  
I wave his apology away, shrug my shoulders.   
“So did I,” I retort, “We both let our emotions run away with us. I am sorry too.” 

We move on. 

Costis doesn’t find us a cave tonight, instead he walks into a clearing that has obviously been used for camping before. It’s closed in on two sides by the steep walls of the mountains around us, keeping the wind and chill down, and a fire circle is already laid out, wood piled to one side. It is still light when we arrive at it, but Costis does not want to keep moving so we drop our packs down and he builds up the fire. I take our water skins to find a stream of snowmelt, and he picks up his bow and says he will see if he can find us something to cook.   
When I get back to our fire he hasn’t returned, and I am shivering in the steadily cooling air. I crouch by the fire as I pull out my spare shirt and tug it on over my clothes. I sit there silently for a short while, then decide I might as well try and do something useful while Costis is still away, so I pick up some of the smaller pieces of firewood from the pile and use my small pen knife to sharpen them into skewers - hopeful that whatever Costis brings back we could roast it like that.   
I am just dipping one of the smaller skewers in charcoal so as to doodle aimlessly on rocks when Costis returns, a small goat slung over his shoulders.   
I probably praise him a little excessively for his fine hunting skills, and he rolls his eyes at me but looks pleased. I know the both of us are working carefully to repair the morning’s damage.   
I offer to help him skin and gut the goat, but he looks me over, noting my hesitance and slight nausea, and suggests I just watch him this time. So I sit and watch, and talk about the goats at Nahuseresh’s country estate, and how once when I was younger one had butted me so hard I’d fallen right onto Nahuseresh, knocking him down as well. I tell him how Nahuseresh had just laughed and ordered that goat to be cooked for dinner that night as punishment. I do not tell him how relieved I had been that it was the goat being punished. I tell him about the feasts I had attended with Nahuseresh, and how I had helped arrange them, knew exactly who to talk to and who to hire but had no idea how to cook any of the food that would be eaten. Costis sits, and listens, and works. He nods along with my nattering, and makes appropriate noises when necessary. When there is a pause in my words he tells me about the first time he cooked and how he had accidentally tipped the entire meal into the fire.   
“Burned both hands when I stupidly reached in to try to save it. When I think back, it was probably for the best it got burnt to a crisp, I’m not sure it would have been edible.”  
I laughed at him and pitied poor little Costis’ hands out loud, asked when he grew out of his clumsiness.   
The meat cooks quickly, sliced thinly and swiftly skewered, and I watch Costis turn it over the flames, juice dripping and hissing in the heat, my mouth watering.   
After we have eaten, Costis turns his attention back to the carcass. He strips it as bare as he can, then cooks the rest of the meat a little bit longer than our dinner until the juices stop dribbling. While they cook, he leaves me in charge of turning them, and carries away the rest of the goat, hoping to be able to find something to dig a hole and bury it with, or at least dispose of it as far away from camp as possible before he goes to wash his hands clean in the stream. 

I accidentally knock a few pieces of meat into the coals, and I understand small Costis’ impulse to fish the food back out, but resist. I hope Costis doesn’t notice the charred meat when he comes back. 

When he does come back, his cheeks are pink with the cold, and I am glad I’ve been sitting so close to the fire until he comes close and puts his freezing fingers on my face. I curse at him until he retreats, laughing, to his pack to pull out his spare shirt and blanket.   
We wrap the meat, and bank the fire, keeping it burning but just barely. We arrange our blankets as we had the previous night, and with the fire less hot I am very glad of it.   
Costis’ hands are cold against me, even through my layered clothing, and I take them in my own to try and heat them between my palms but that only makes my hands cold as well. He mumbles an apology in response to my grumbling and makes to pull his hands away to stop spreading the chill, but I tug back at them and bring his arms further across his body. I direct his hands under my shirts, and he raises his eyebrows at me but complies. I shudder at the touch of his chilled palms against my hot stomach, but nod at him.   
“How are you supposed to keep me warm if you’re losing all your heat out of your hands?” I say as nonchalantly as possible. I can feel my skin cooling down around his hands, but I am confident it will warm the both of us quicker this way, even if it is currently almost painful.   
“You’re very brave,” Costis mumbles, and I roll my eyes at him.   
“I’m already warming your hands with my skin, you don’t need to flatter me.”   
“No - I mean yes, this is also very brave, but I meant -” he pauses like he’s as unsure as I am about what he meant. “Coming with me,” he says eventually, “even though you didn’t, or don’t, believe Attolia to be safe, even though you feel...indebted to Nahuseresh. You were brave enough to take the risk of being free.”   
My heart feels colder and heavier than Costis’ hands on me. Coming with Costis had not been brave at all on my part. It hadn’t even really been a decision I had made, just something I had stumbled into while in the middle of panicking. I did not leave out of some deep desire for justice and freedom, I left because I thought the only alternative was torture and death and because I am a coward. I shake my head.   
“I’m not brave,” I whisper, “Leaving Nahuseresh wasn’t bravery-” I don’t know what to say next. I want to tell him the truth but I know I cannot.   
“It was,” Costis is insisting, “You are.”   
I shake my head until Costis pulls his hands out from my shirts and takes my head to still it, palms (warmer but still cool) against my cheeks. He leans forward and presses a kiss to my forehead. “You have shown your bravery many times over the last couple of months,” he tells me, “you don’t have to be prancing around with a sword to be brave.” He’s mocking himself for my amusement and I appreciate it but I can’t bring myself to agree with him so I stay quiet, duck my head down to rest against his chest. He pulls his hands back down under the blanket, and then drapes one arm over my waist to hold me and the warmth closer to him, understanding that I am done talking. I lie in his arms and think about how easily he had kissed my forehead, how easily he handed out affectionate touches. I couldn’t know how he acted around his friends back in Attolia, but I assumed it would be no different. I imagined asking him - do you kiss all your friends while sleeping together and cupping their face? 

I woke in the morning earlier than Costis, with toes freezing. I woke him very quickly by lifting my knees up and pressing my cold digits against his legs.   
“Gods all damn it,” he grumbles but lets me keep my feet against him. He reaches down awkwardly and takes one of my feet in his hands, rubbing it to warm it.   
“I knew it was a good idea to warm your hands up last night,” I tell him smugly, and he squeezes my foot in reply, his eyes closed again. I add this onto my imaginary question.   
Do you kiss all of your friends while sleeping together and cupping their face, and then rub their feet?   
For breakfast we chew on the cold cooked meat and numb our throats by drinking the night chilled water. I am eager to start walking again, to warm my muscles and get out of the shade.   
By the time the sun finally does make a proper appearance, I am already sweaty with effort, but I appreciate its warmth nonetheless.  
As we walk, Costis asks me for names of the trees we pass. I can answer some, but others I have no clue and he makes guesses at what they could be. Some are the same as in Attolia, but many are new to him. He is happy and nostalgic to be walking among so many trees, and I am a bit surprised at first, thinking that living in the palace he was unlikely to be around trees so often before I remember that he would probably not have been born in the palace. I ask him about his childhood, curious to know more about the boy who burnt his dinner and his fingers.   
I am not at all surprised to learn that he grew up in the country on a farm, his language gave that away and I told him so, pleased when he laughed.   
“It is not so obvious when I speak Mede though?” He asks and I shake my head, tell him kindly that his Mede accent was actually improving very well.   
He tells me of his sister, of the mischief they had gotten into, of her recent engagement. He sounds almost mournful telling me of that though and I ask if he does not approve of her fiance. He shrugs. “I don’t know, I only got the letter telling me of the engagement the day before I left Attolia. I’m afraid I won’t make it home in time for the wedding either. She will be very disappointed with me.”   
I wondered how much of his hurry to get home was for the king, how much was to be out of reach of the Namreen, and how much was to see his sister again and be at her wedding. I was silent for a long time after that, long enough that he had begun shooting me worried looks.   
“Are you feeling alright, Kamet?” he asked me eventually and I nodded.   
“I wonder sometimes about my brothers,” I reply, “I can’t even recall their names anymore. I wonder where they are though, if their masters are kind.”   
I hadn’t intended to be so melancholy, but there we are. I tried to play it off lightly, but ended up making it worse by saying with a dry chuckle, “I’m sure they don’t even remember I exist, so.” 

We walk in silence until Costis nudges me slightly and says, “I’m sorry. That is a hard thing to bear.” I nod stiffly. 

“Hard as well,” I reply, “To be so far from your family. I would apologise for keeping you so long in the empire, but I don’t really think it’s my fault.” I say it to make him laugh, and he does so I laugh as well while he shakes his head.   
“No, it is the fault of my dear damned king, though I am hesitant to think of my being here as a bad thing,” he says, cocks his head at me, and nudges me again, “Even if I do miss my Thalia’s wedding, I think this time with you will have been worth it.”   
There he is with his easy affection. It’s hard to know how to react to it, and I duck my head. He is content to receive no response to that and, blessedly, changes the conversation to that of when we ought to eat lunch.   
We don’t stop to eat for several more hours, having decided to tackle a steep slope first, and then after we’d struggled over, gone in search of a stream to fill our skins with. After we have eaten and have fallen back into our slog, I bring up a question that had been on my mind for a while.   
“Why did he send you? Your king. From what you have told me about your position in the guard - it doesn’t make sense.” I know Costis had said he was here partly for his own protection, that he was somewhat of a favourite and people in court begrudged him that, but it hardly seemed sensible to try and keep someone safe by sending them into enemy territory.   
“Little my king does makes any sense at first glance,” Costis shrugs, “I like to think it is because he trusts me. Maybe it is because he thought it would be amusing. Or because he thinks I have a wealth of experience of guarding people who don’t really want to be guarded.”   
“Amusing how?” I ask.   
“I imagine he likes to imagine me plodding around here, complaining about being sent on a ridiculous mission. He finds it refreshing when other people complain, he says he doesn’t like to be the only one complaining. That is a lie though, he at least likes to be the one complaining loudest.”   
Everything he says about his king makes me want to shake my head and roll his eyes, but he sounds so ridiculously affectionate and proud of him. It’s hard to believe we are thinking of the same man when he speaks about it. I wonder if Costis is as casually affectionate with his king as he is with me. He talks of him so casually, but he is certainly too respectful to treat his king like a friend, I think. I consider asking him, but it seems too ridiculous. Instead I imagine him in bed with his king to keep him warm, kissing his king’s forehead. It makes me blush and I exhale loudly.   
“What are you thinking about?” Costis asks me, watching me, I am sure my expressions must be amusing. I imagine telling him what I am thinking, and having him tell me that of course he kisses his king.   
“You punched him in the face and yet you are one of his favourites? Someone he trusts at such a distance to carry out his orders.”   
“It was certainly a series of events I didn’t quite follow either. It sounds like something out of a story. He follows a different set of rules to everybody else.”   
I let my tongue and my imagination loose. “Is it because of your good looks?” I ask and he turns to look at me, confusion obvious on his face.   
“My good looks?” He repeats as if sure he misheard, and I consider asking if they have mirrors in Attolia.   
“Yes.”   
“I don’t follow,” he says slowly. I could bang my head against a tree. I should just leave it, tell him to forget it.   
“I was attempting to subtly ask you if the reason you are the king’s favourite, and why you are not dead after punching a king, is because you are his -” I falter slightly at the flash of realisation on Costis’ face, quickly followed by a look of warning. I ignore it. “-his lover.”   
We walk in silence for a few moments while I silently berate myself for putting my foot in it yet again.   
“Surely it would make less sense for him to have sent me here if I was his lover,” Costis says finally and I breathe, relieved that he does not sound even a little angry.   
“As you said, little your king does makes sense,” I tell him, and then hurry on to add, “I shouldn’t have asked. It is certainly not my business.” I hope that he will tell me. Put my mind at ease.  
“If I was his lover, I’m not sure I would be permitted to tell people that, especially not people I am currently stealing.”   
He was not denying it, but I couldn’t tell if it was just to wind me up because he was grinning at me as if sharing a joke. He must be winding me up.   
“Surely though,” I say, attempting to join in with his joking tone, “If you are his lover I deserve to know because I am sure he won’t be pleased to hear that you have been sleeping with me in his absence.”   
Costis eyes me sideways, looking unsettled, which in turn unsettles me even more.   
“Kamet,” he says after a long moment, and then falls silent. I will myself not to burst out of anxious anticipation, keep my eyes on the ground. Finally, he continues, and I almost choke on my own spit.   
“If it were true, that the king and I were, well. If it were true, I can tell you he would not object to our...bed sharing. Or to anything else. He is not selfish with me. If it were true. You have nothing to worry about on that count.”   
I am not sure which of us is more embarrassed.   
“Oh.” I say.   
“Yes.” he says. 

I am saved from this conversation just then by Costis suddenly realising that for the last few minutes we have been walking up hill in very light snow. This is where I discover that Costis has never been in the snow before.   
“Doesn’t it snow in Eddis?” I ask him, folding my arms as I watch him crouch down to touch the snow, as if he’s a small child.   
“Yes,” he replies, “But I have never been to Eddis. The closest I have got to snow is hailstorms.”   
“If we walk a bit further,” I tell him, “The snow is likely to be thicker higher up.” I thought that would get his attention, and it did.He got back to his feet, and grinning at me, started making his way quickly up the path again. It reminded me of some of the younger slaves I had had under my command at one point, playing in snow for the first time while I yelled at them to not soak through their clothes. Something about thick clean snow seemed to bring out the mischief in anyone, although I had never permitted myself to join in the fun, because I doubted Nahuseresh would appreciate me dripping all over his rooms, and it would have ruined my respectable image if one of the children had hit me in the face with a snow ball.   
My respectable image, not that I really had one currently, was ruined only a few minutes later as Costis discovers the thicker snow, and much like a child, decides the first thing he should do with it is throw it at me. It’s not at all tightly packed, he had just scooped a handful up and tossed it as it was at me, so it doesn’t hit me hard, but I still stop in my tracks and stare at him in shock. The cold stinging my cheekbones sharply and then dripping uncomfortably down my shirt.  
He only looks sheepish for a moment, and then he is stooping down again to pick up more snow to throw. He hits me again with more loosely packed snow and I narrow my eyes at him and shrug my bag off of my shoulders. Just because he is bigger and stronger and has much better eyesight and therefore better aim than me did not mean I didn’t think I could fight back. I may have never been willing enough to join in a fight like this before, but that didn’t mean I didn’t know how to. I dropped down into a squat, avoiding his next sloppy missile, and scooped up my own handful of snow wincing at the sharp shock of ice, and pack it firmly in my palms until I am holding a very dense ball. Costis is approaching me slowly, his face taken over with mischief. I wait until he is just further away than arms length and then throw my much more efficient snowball at him.  
It hits him square in the chest, and hard enough that he grunts and looks surprised, he takes a step back looking shocked, and then grins up at me just in time for me to throw my next ball into his face. Understanding very quickly that I have the upperhand in creating these snowballs, Costis decides to completely cut them out of the equation, and tackles me instead. He catches me round the waist and drags me down to the ground. He is barely using any of his strength and I wrestle with him a moment, half unwilling to get my clothes wet and messy, half excited at the chance to finally let myself get wet and messy for fun. I let him bear me down to the ground, and he straddles me, knees on either side of my hips. He pants down at me, face pink with cold and wet with snow, and I drag my hands on the ground on both sides of me and lift them simultaneously to pour more snow onto his head. A lot of it drips off onto me, and then a lot more as he leans over me and shakes his head. Squawking, I start to wriggle free, and he pins me a moment to scoop more snow up and squishes it onto my head, then releases me. I scramble onto my feet, cursing at him jubilantly while he laughs at me from his knees. My shirt is clinging to me damply, and my face is dripping. Costis isn’t looking much better. I think we ought to very quickly go find somewhere to set up camp while there is still light and some warmth and make a fire to dry our clothes. Instead, I back away from him until I am standing with my back against a small tree, struggling to stay upright with the amount of snow on it’s branches. I am just short enough to fit under its branch, and I stay there until Costis stands and walks towards me.   
“What are you doing?” He asks me, very much amused at what must look like a very pitiful attempt at hiding. As much as he has proven himself over and over again how little of a fool he is, he is still an absolute idiot. I wait until he is standing right before me, and then I reach up and hit the branch, prompting the snow to fall swiftly on top of him, and also a little bit on me.   
“You sneaky little -” he cuts himself off to spit leafy snow out of his mouth, and I grin at him, very much aware that if he had chosen to he could have very easily kept me pinned in the snow and covered me with it.   
“We should make camp somewhere close,” I tell him, “Or else we’ll catch our death.” 

I am starting to think that Costis must worship some deity of caves, because within the next ten minutes of our search for camp he finds one. It’s obvious that we are not the first people to have used it, because like our last site, there is wood stacked against the stone wall, and obvious fire marks on the ground. I ask him if it looked fresh -we hadn’t even heard another human since starting up the mountains- but he thinks it could be anywhere between three days to a week, depending on weather of course. We build the fire up until it is raging hot, and strip off our wet clothes to wring them out and then lay them on large stones nearby. Even with the fire so bright, it is terribly cold in just our small clothes, so we take out our blankets and wrap ourselves up in them before we crouch by the fire. Costis has a series of tiny grazes on his forehead, I assume it must be from when I hit him straight in the face, and I make him lean down so I can look at them.   
“Sorry,” I tell him, brushing my fingers against them and making him wince just slightly, “But they’re not bleeding.”   
“I don’t mind,” he replies, “You ought to be satisfied with your win in that brawl.”   
I laugh in his face and turn away to poke at the fire.   
“You let me win.”   
He makes an offended noise, “I don’t just let people win.”  
“Maybe so, but you let yourself lose.”  
He continues to sound offended and I can’t help but smile wider at his happiness.   
We have the last of the bread and cheese, both a little stale now, and toast them over the fire to get some warmth inside us as well. I would give almost anything for a hot tea or coffee, but melting cheese is almost as good. It is still early, not quite evening and we probably shouldn’t have already set up camp, but then we shouldn’t have stopped to scrap in the snow and soak all our clothing through either. I wasn’t worried. I lean against his side, close my eyes, and then wonder if I should.   
I cannot believe I had already forgotten what he had all but admitted. Him and his fool king. I had only suggested it in jest. Well. Partially in jest. His admiration of his king hadn’t seemed feasible given what I knew of Costis and what I knew of the Attolian goat-foot. Not unless there was something else beneath it all, surely. I wished I hadn’t pushed it, I am not at all sure that I really did want to know.   
Costis wraps his arms around me, pulls me closer into his side.   
“What about the queen?” I ask of him, dropping all pretence of ‘if it were true’. My voice quiet enough that if he chose, he could have ignored it, could have pretended it was nothing but the fire. He doesn’t answer me for long enough that that’s what I think he has decided to do.   
“The king and queen are ridiculously in love,” he says suddenly, and I startle against him. “My queen is very well aware of anything that goes on between me and her husband, and is… in favour of it.” He’s speaking so awkwardly, as if trying to skirt around saying anything too obvious, too damning. I don’t know if I am more surprised that the queen knows about it, or that the queen is not unhappy about it. I think it is more likely that she only tolerates it, like my master’s wife tolerated his extra-marital activities. Because she could not stop them, and showing her displeasure too often would only make her look weak. I am not sure if I am more sorry for the queen, or for Costis.   
“You are thinking I am naive,” Costis says to me, and I can tell he is smiling.   
“I wasn’t,” I protest weakly.  
“Liar,” Costis’ voice is gentle, “You think my king is playing me and my queen for sweet fools.”   
“I am just having a hard time reconciling the idea that the queen would be anything less than furious at any sort of, uh, betrayal.”   
“There is no betrayal. Although I admit I was terrified of that at first as well,” he tells me.  
I wonder if he talks freely about this with his friends in the guard. If his tongue is only loose because we are so far away from his home. If he is telling me because he wants to tell me.  
I sit quiet and wait for him to continue.   
“I would not kiss him back until the queen ordered me to her and gave me her blessing.”   
Even though I knew in an abstract sort of way that Costis must have kissed the king, it was still a shock to hear him actually say it out loud. Whatever happened to not being obvious?  
“She gave you her blessing? To fool around with her husband?” I let my shock slip out before I can stop myself.   
“Yes. I think her actual words were something along the lines of - would you please kiss my insufferable king before he wears a hole in my carpet.”   
I gape at him, pulling out of his arms a little so I can see his face, see if he is being serious. I cannot imagine any wife, especially one who has so much to lose as a queen, being so blase about this sort of thing. His face is entirely serious and he looks down at me, eyebrows slightly raised.   
“She loves him. And wants him to be happy. She knows that his love for me doesn’t make his love for her any less.”   
None of this is making even an iota of sense. I wonder if the king has told Costis that he loves him, or it is just something that Costis likes to tell himself.   
“She trusts that I love him as well. I think if she didn’t she would not have given her blessing.”   
This all feels like a fever dream. Sitting in a cave in nothing but our smallclothes and blankets listening to a soldier who stole me from my master’s house, tell me that he is his king’s lover and that his queen gave him the go ahead. 

“I see,” I say, not seeing. I do not lean back against Costis, instead move entirely out of his arms to check on our clothes. I already know they will not be dry yet, but I kneel by them anyway and pat them foolishly. I wrap my blanket tighter around me and go to our bags to take out our water skins.   
“I should fill these before it gets dark,” I tell him miserably, “I won’t be long.”   
I planned to fill them with clean snow, hoping that the water still in them would melt the snow quicker, and having them by the fire would make it quicker still. And I needed to be alone with my thoughts for a while. Costis only nods, and I leave quickly, hissing at the chill outside the warm circle of our fire.   
I dawdle unwisely outside, until the evening has truly fallen and the air is harsh against me. Wrapped in nothing but my thin blanket I may as well be naked for all the protection it gives me. When I return, Costis is standing in the mouth of the cave, his worry obvious. I wonder if I had been just a few minutes longer if he would have come looking for me. As soon as he sees me his worry melts away into annoyance and he turns to sit back by the fire.   
“I thought you had been hurt,” he tells me angrily as I put down the skins and then huddle as close to the flames as I dare.   
“Well I wasn’t,” I reply shortly, “We should eat some of the goat.”   
He immediately digs into our bags to retrieve the food, but doesn’t stop berating me for taking so long in an unfamiliar terrain with no protection, not even for warmth. I shrug, knowing that he is right that I was a fool. Finally he huffs in exasperation and asks me-  
“Why are you so upset?”   
I am upset because I can’t have what I want - unsurprising - and I know that that is truthfully a good thing. Costis is royal property, and will certainly not be allowed to, or even want to do anything more with me but share my warmth. This is a good thing, I had told myself over and over again in the snow, because I am planning on leaving him as soon as we are in Zaboar anyway, and it is already hard enough to bear without adding any other unnecessary emotions on top. I had pointed out to myself that even if Costis were willing, he was obviously already being taken advantage of by his king, and I did not want to betray his trust as well by giving him something I would have to so soon take away.   
“I’m not,” I say stupidly.   
Costis hands me my portion of the food, and stares at me hard. I eat.   
“I know you are upset about my involvement with my king,” Costis tells me, “but I am unsure why.”   
Gods take him. He is too stubbornly dimwitted for his own good. I keep eating, and Costis shifts closer towards me.   
“I told you earlier,” Costis says, his face close to mine, “that the king does not mind who I sleep with. He trusts my judgement. He is not selfish with me.”   
He is speaking slowly as if we are back to the beginning and he is unsure I will understand what he is saying. I frown down at the meat in my hands. Oh. I am the one who is too stubbornly dimwitted.  
“Kamet,” he is saying insistently, “I am not a fool.”   
He was a fool. A clever, handsome, sweet fool, but still a fool. I realise too late that I have said this out loud, and he laughs at me, reaches for me cautiously.   
I let him take my face in his hand, turn me to face him.   
“I need you to tell it to me plain,” I say, staring at a spot on the cave wall to the side of his face, “I am tired of making assumptions only to be proven wrong.”   
I don’t care it this is maybe a little cruel, making him say words that I can’t even bring myself to think.   
“I like you,” he pauses, “A lot. I would very much like to kiss you.”   
He is ruining all my plans. And my resolve. I tell myself that I can’t, in favour of fairness, actually kiss him even if he wants it, because that would make him hate me all the more later. I imagine telling him that his king shouldn’t trust his judgement because here he was picking a lying idiot- although maybe that is why the king liked him.   
I incline my head in clear invitation, and Costis dips his head down until his lips are hovering above mine, his breath on me.   
“You want this?” he asks. Of course I want this, I want him to drop his head just a fraction more and kiss me so I don’t have to be the one kissing him first, spilling my mind to him. If he kisses me first then when I leave, I try to convince myself, I won’t feel so awful about it.   
I nod, short, sharp, open my mouth, wait.   
He kisses me. His face is prickly with heavy stubble, and his lips are chapped and rough against mine.   
He pulls away too soon, and I am worried he’s changed his mind but he doesn’t look disappointed, just a little worried.  
“Kamet, you are freezing,” he says, rubbing his hands jerkily up and down my arms, “gods above, why didn’t you say anything?”   
I shake my head, leave behind all my caution, “So warm me up,” I tell him, dropping the meat to the ground and getting up on my knees.   
I let him pull me from my blanket into his, onto his lap. I spread my damp blanket awkwardly by the fire, leaning out of his arms to do so.   
Before I turn back to him I say, “Your king is an idiot.”   
He doesn’t look even the slightest bit offended, rather he’s smiling like he agrees with me, and waits silent for me to tell him exactly why I said this.   
“Isn’t he worried that someone will beat him at his own game and steal you away from him?” I ask, mostly teasing, and Costis laughs.   
“Is that what you plan on doing?” He asks me, his cheeks are pink, whether from the chill in the air or not, and I want to nod my head and tell him that it is what I am planning on doing. I entertain, just for one brief second, the idea of convincing him to run away with me, not to Attolia, somewhere new and beautiful for the both of us. Instead I lean forward and answer him with a kiss, all my weight behind it.   
His bare chest is burning hot against my still damp skin, and I pull myself closer against him, determined that his heat be mine as much as my chill is his. He kisses me back, and he kisses me back hard - with each passing moment it’s more and more nonsensical that the king would willingly send him away.   
I pull my mouth away, and tip my head back for him to kiss down my neck while I breathe unevenly and ask, “Have you been thinking about this for long?”   
He licks down my throat, bites the junction between shoulder and neck, says, “Weeks,” then continues kissing his way down my shoulder. All my blood is rushing to my skin, heating me quickly, scorching my cheeks and fingers with it. I interrupt his work on my shoulder by ducking down and kissing him again. My movements are not at all hesitant, but I am. I am waiting with bated breath for him to decide his king wouldn’t like this, for him to decide he doesn’t like this, for him to suddenly realise by kissing me that I am a liar.   
“What about you?” he asks, words muffled by my lips, “how long?”   
I don’t know when I stopped thinking of him as a threat and started thinking of him as something else. From the moment I’d seen him I had thought him easy on the eyes, but I couldn’t pinpoint when I realised that my eyes lingered on him too easily.   
“Ages,” I say and forestall any further questions by putting my tongue in his mouth. 

He is pressing me against the hard floor of the cave, his body spread out over mine. His blanket is between me and the ground, but I can still feel every bump and dip painfully on the skin of my back.   
“Are you ok?” he mumbles, pausing our kissing for just a moment. I nod and shift my hand from his shoulder to the nape of his neck to tug his lips back to me, but he resists easily.   
“I’m not too heavy on you?” he asks, and I sigh and wiggle under him. I think my back may very well be bruised tomorrow, just one spot where I think there must be a small rock pressing into the flesh of my lower back.   
“It’s perfect,” I tell him firmly, “Are you going to keep kissing me or not?”   
“I am,” he tells me, then contradicts himself by sitting up, knees straddling my thighs, “I just want to look at you first.”   
It can’t be a very good view. There’s no light coming from outside of the cave now, just the warm flickering light from the fire which is mostly blocked by Costis’ body. I must be nothing but a canvas of shadows and shivering skin. He apparently sees more.   
“You are amazing,” he whispers, drags a hand roughly down my chest to grip my hip over my small clothes.   
“You can take them off,” I tell him awkwardly, certain I know what he wants. I had been able to feel his cock, obvious in his own small clothes, hard against me moments after we had first kissed, and I knew he had felt mine. I felt very young, lying under him feeling embarrassed about my erection.   
“I would,” he says softly, “but-” he hesitates.  
Oh monsters of hell, I think, of course the king would have rules for how far Costis could go. I nod hastily, knowing I am blushing, “Of course. Sorry. The king.”   
He looks surprised, curls his fingers over the top of my smalls.   
“Kamet, no, I was only going to say that you’re already very cold. I wasn’t sure if it was wise to reveal more skin until you were at least a bit warmer.”   
I close my eyes as if that would hide my humiliation. Costis huffs out a noise that could be a laugh, then lies back down against me, covering me easily like a very heavy and handsy blanket.   
“Sweet Kamet,” he says against my cheek, and I blink my eyes open at the endearment. “If my king were here at this very moment, I am sure he would have already made some less than subtle lewd suggestions of what we ought to be doing. I promise to you, if there were some line I could not cross here I would have told you before I kissed you.”   
I look up at his face, easily seeing that he speaks the truth.   
“I’m sorry,” I say again, “I panicked. This is… strange for me.”  
“We can stop if you like,” Costis says, “you don’t need to be sorry. I don’t want to pressure you in any way.”   
I think that Costis must be the most considerate lover in existence and that neither the king or I deserve him.   
“Please don’t stop,” I’m shaking my head and clutching at his upper arms, well aware that I am very selfish, “You’re not pressuring me into anything.”   
“I would have been sad to stop,” Costis says, kissing my cheek, then the corner of my mouth, then pausing, “But do tell me if you get too cold.”   
“Huh,” I huff, arching my neck up so he kisses me again, “You’re the one who feels the cold, you tell me.” I have absolutely no intentions of calling anything off just because my feet are blocks of ice. It wasn’t exactly as if we could just go inside to continue. He makes a noise of agreement, kisses me softly, then bites my lip sharply before pulling back and shifting down my body. He kisses down my neck with such intention that I am gasping before he has even made it to my collarbones. He lingers for far too long over my shoulders, over the dip at the base of my throat, until I am overwhelmed with touch and he continues down to kiss every bump of my ribs. It is ticklish, his stubble brushing against my sensitive skin, and I can imagine that in any other circumstance I would find it uncomfortable, but the added sensation only heightens the pleasure. When he makes it to my small clothes, he sits back up and leans forwards to kiss my mouth. I meet him hungrily, torn between wanting him here so I can devour him, and wanting him to take my smalls off already. I wonder if this is how he kisses the king as well - smoothly changing from soft tender caresses to hot rough kisses, pressing against him. I wonder if the king comes to him in the guard barracks, if the rest of the guard knows and looks away, or if he sneaks in like the thief he is and the secrecy adds to it. I imagine Costis in the royal bed, his muscles softened by the presence of opulent bedding. Smiling at the king like he had smiled at me, taking off the king’s clothes with deft hands. Costis cups me through my smalls and suddenly I am too cold.   
“Don’t,” I say, voice harsh, and Costis stills immediately, removes his hand, pulls back. I shift uncomfortably on my elbows, then roll over onto my knees and tug at the blanket to wrap it around myself, needing to cover my body, to protect it from the cold and from view. I can’t turn around to face Costis. I stay on my knees, hunched over my aching stomach, my still hard cock, breathing hard and far too fast.   
“Kamet- I, I’m sorry,” Costis sounds absolutely horrified. “Are you alright? Can I do anything? Did I do something wrong?”   
I can’t answer him for a moment, too busy steadying my breathing, but I shake my head.   
“No,” I am a fool, “you did nothing wrong,” a lying fool, “I just - I got cold,” I am so embarrassed I could melt.   
“Oh,” Costis says from behind me, he still sounds worried, “That’s fine, Kamet. Do you want to sit by the fire?”   
No. I want to go throw myself into the snow. I nod, crawl very awkwardly to sit by the fire, do not look at Costis. He comes to sit next to me, not too close, and sits with his knees up and his arms around them.   
“I shouldn’t have moved so fast,” he tells me, “I’m sorry.”   
I had invited him to move faster, he didn’t need to be inventing reasons why this was his fault. I shook my head, but couldn’t think of the words to say. I cover my face with one hand, and reach out to him with the other. He takes my hand in his, and I pull him closer until he is sitting with his legs against mine but I still can’t look at him.   
“You did nothing wrong,” I repeat, “The fault is all mine. I - I overestimated myself.” If I had felt young before, it was nothing compared to how I felt now. Young and naive and intensely humiliated. He is still holding my hand, squeezing it gently.   
“That’s no fault, Kamet, I’m glad you stopped when you were uncomfortable.” He absolutely does not deserve my shit. I cannot believe that he is so forgiving about this and I finally lift my head to look at him, to look for the disappointment in his eyes, the anger in his face, and find nothing but worry and a ridiculous amount of care. I imagine he has never had to be so gentle with his king, so I wonder where he learned to be so careful, or if it was just some innate feature of his being.   
“Truly,” he says firmly, “I don’t want more than you are fully willing to give.”  
“Why not?” I ask, “you could have easily taken it if you wanted. I wouldn’t have been able to stop you.”  
He looks as if I slapped him full round the face but he does not move away. I wish I could stop being a fool, even for just a few minutes at a time, could stop ruining things.   
“Is that what you think of me?” he says slowly, “do you really think that I only want sex, not you?”   
I continue saying stupid, stupid things. “You can’t want anymore than...sex. You love your king, and maybe he hasn’t given you any boundaries but I can’t believe that you don’t have any for yourself. You are too-” I waved my hand in his general direction, “-honourable. I don’t want to be used as some stand in for someone else - I can’t - I can’t bear to be used like that.”   
He has let go of my hand. My stomach, which had been painfully twisting this whole time, is now a cavern of emptiness.   
“Kamet-” he breaks off, his frustration loud. He scrubs his hands over his face and then grips his hair tightly, leaning forwards over his knees. I wonder if I got up now and tried to disappear into the night he would let me. Of course he wouldn’t.   
“Why didn’t you tell me you were worried about that before we - ?” He waves his hands wildly at the cave.  
“I didn’t realise I was,” I snap back loudly, “I let my imagination run away with me.”   
“Well I didn’t,” Costis tells me sharply, “I wasn’t kissing you and imagining you were Gen, I wasn’t even thinking of him, I was thinking of you. You’re not just some body to me Kamet.”  
It takes me a moment to realise that Gen was the king. Within that moment, Costis has reached out again to take my hand, “I like you, and I want you but I can happily live without even kissing you if that is what you would prefer. This isn’t about some bodily need.” He still sounds so frustrated, but not angry, not coercive.  
“You love the king,” I say again.  
He speaks slowly, “When you told me before of your past love with Marin, you told me she loved you and Nahuseresh. She had enough love in her to love more than one person. My king loves his wife and my king loves me, it does not lessen the love he has for his wife. Just because I love my king does not mean that I cannot love anyone else.”   
I hope this is not a declaration of his love for me. I sit very still while I think. I did not think I was capable of what Costis was saying, of loving more than one person at once without feeling guilty, like I was betraying the one or both people. But I supposed my own capability of that was not needed seeing as there was no one else I wanted. I could have Costis, just until we got to Zaboar. Even if I was planning on going with him to Attolia it was not as if I would then have to be bedded by the king as well, or possibly worse, see Costis be bedded by the king.   
“Sometimes,” I say to my knees, “I am very slow witted and easily panicked,” I glance at him, “I make assumptions based on previous experiences when I should not. I am sorry.”   
“I should have made my intentions clearer,” Costis says, “You don’t need to apologise.”   
“Will you just let me be sorry?” I snap, exasperated, and Costis laughs at me.   
“Yes. Of course. You are forgiven, if that helps,” he offers, and I let myself lean heavy against him. It helps. He wraps his arm around me, rests his head on mine.   
“We should actually eat, and then probably sleep,” he says quietly, “Because I am freezing.”  
Of course he is freezing, I have his blanket. We eat, ignoring the piece of meat I’d dropped by the fire, covered now in soot. Our clothes are mostly dry now, just a few slightly damp patches in the seams that we decide will dry quicker on our bodies, so we pull them on. Despite being not quite fully dry, they’re warm from the heat of the fire and I shudder at how good it feels against my skin. My blanket is also still a little damp, but I figure it would do well enough as a top blanket. Before we lie down to sleep, Costis looks at me, a little askance, says, “Are you still comfortable sleeping so close?”   
“Of course I am,” I nod my head firmly, “very comfortable,” I add.   
I am half hoping that once we are wrapped back up together in the blankets he’ll start kissing me again, but he pulls me onto my side, presses himself up against my back and puts his arms around me.   
“Let’s not push it,” he says in my ear, “We have plenty of time to sort these things out.”   
We had maybe two weeks - maximum - before I planned to slip away, I did not think that was plenty of time to sort these things out but it wasn’t as if I could tell him that. As if I could turn round in his arms and say- ‘actually I can’t come to Attolia with you because my master is dead and that in turn makes me useless and downright offensive to your master, so not only would I fear for my life but I would hate to have to see you so upset. Please fuck me now before I have to leave you.’ Just the mere thought of saying this to Costis is so ridiculous that I snort, and Costis opens his eyes against the back of my neck - I can feel his eyelashes brushing my skin.   
“Hmm?” He questions, and I shake my head.  
“Just thinking of how ridiculous I am,” I tell him, and now he snorts. 

I think he is already asleep, only minutes after he closes his eyes again, but I shift my shoulders against him to nudge him out of sleep and he responds with a grumpy mumble.   
“Will you kiss me?” I ask, “just once, as a goodnight.” it is a completely anserine request, but one he obliges easily. I turn my head to look over my shoulder at him and he leans forward to kiss me open mouthed and sleepy. I wish I hadn’t added the ‘just once’, because as soon as the kiss ends I want another. I don’t move and he kisses me again, slow and wet and his fingers are gripping my hip tightly. It would be so easy to turn and pull him closer and persuade him to push it. He pulls away from the kiss, lifts his head to kiss my cheek, says again, “Let’s not push it, dearling.” presses another light kiss to my jaw, then the back of my neck as I turn my head away.

The morning arrives quicker than expected, painfully bright and cold. We break camp briskly, knowing we will be warmer walking than sitting in our cave breathing into our hands. It would have seemed like any other morning, as if nothing had passed between us the previous night, except Costis walked closer than usual. Put his hand out to touch me more often, as we stepped over rocks or logs, a hand to my lower back or my arm, as we spoke, a touch to the shoulder or hand. I wish we could stop and make the most of the pale warmth, but the snow is thick and wet under our feet and if we stop too long we’ll freeze as well as get soaked again. Instead we keep trudging, talking occasionally, touching more, until we reach a rocky clearing where the snow has melted enough that the tops of the rocks are dry, so we sit and eat lunch quickly. Before I am quite ready to move on again, Costis stands up and I pout, open my mouth to ask for just a few more minutes, but he’s bending down to kiss me, not to put his pack back on.   
This too finishes before I am quite ready, and he tugs me up onto my feet with a cheeky smile. I press myself to his chest, wrap my arms around his waist to forestall him from moving away.   
“I don’t want to go to Zaboar,” I mumble into his shirt, “let’s stay here in the Taymets. We could herd goats and make our own cheese. You could build us a little house.”  
He puts his arms around me, squeezes me tight, his hands fists in my shirts.   
“You would get so bored,” he told me, “and there is no way to get nutcakes here.”   
Also I am sure he misses his king, and the heat of Attolia.   
We keep walking. 

I know I probably shouldn’t ask, that I might not like the answers I get, but my curiousity is overwhelming.   
“How did your relationship with the king start?”   
Costis eyes me sideways, I expect he is looking for jealousy.  
“Do you want the long version or the short?” he asks me.   
“Both. Short first.”  
He laughs at me, then tells me his stories.   
“As you wish. The short version is that the king looked me in the eye one morning during training and asked if I was embarrassed about my feelings for him.”   
“If it were anyone else I suppose I would think that forward,” I tell him, “what of the long then?”   
“It starts the same, but then I drop my sword and he laughs at me and says that he will take that as a yes. He appears in my quarters later that evening, when I thought he was supposed to be in an audience elsewhere, and asks if I would be comfortable knowing my feelings were reciprocated. I think I probably turned as many shades as a sunset, and he stepped close to me to kiss me on the cheek. I told him I could not do this, and left-”  
I interrupt him, astonished, “You told your king no, and then just walked away?”   
Costis laughs ruefully, “I could not bear the thought of betraying my queen, even for my king, and I thought turning him down would be less treacherous than the other option.”   
“And then the queen called you to an audience with her and gave you her blessing?” I filled in, and he nodded. It was not exactly the most lubrical story of an affair with a married man that I had heard, but possibly one of the stranger ones. Most I knew of were court gossip, everyone knew about it (except occasionally the wife), but ignored it due to their wealth, or of masters and their slaves, very common yes, but absolutely not a love affair, even, and perhaps especially if the slaves thought it was. I hoped for Costis’ sake that this was not like that, that he was right about his king’s affections.   
“Had you been with a man before?” I ask.   
“Yes. Though not so intimately,” he nudged me with his elbow, “what are these questions about?”  
“I like to be well informed,” I say primly, “and I have no chain of gossip to listen to so I have to get it all straight from the source.”   
“What about you then?” he asks, “What was the gossip about you like?”  
“I-” I paused, exhaled loudly, ran my fingers through my short hair, “well. It was for the most part true.”  
Costis looked at me, waiting for me to give him more, and I made a face but continued.   
“It was common court gossip that I was Nahuseresh’s lover. It wasn’t true though, that I was his lover.”   
Costis continues waiting.   
“Lover implies some kind of romantic affection, what we had was not that at all. I was simply always on hand and less trouble than some of his girls.”   
Costis is still silent, though I am not sure if he’s waiting for anything else now or just digesting the information.   
“I’ve not been with anyone else,” I offer, “after Marin I didn’t think the risk was worth it.”   
“No, I suppose it wouldn’t have been,” Costis replies slowly, “he did a good job of putting you off it.”  
I wonder if I ought to try again to defend my master, to attempt to convince Costis that it hadn’t all been bad.   
“He would have allowed me to,” I say, “if I had wanted, and if I did not slack in my work or even think of leaving him. I chose not to.”  
“As you say,” Costis says lightly, and I shoot him a sharp look, knowing he does not believe me. Maybe he is right, but it would be kinder of him to let me believe that my life was not just misery upon misery. That I had had some independence somewhere in it.   
“So,” I swivel the conversation away from me, “is it common knowledge in Attolia of your standing with the king?”   
“Only in some circles,” Costis shrugs, “the guard certainly suspect, as do many of the servants, but I don’t think it is something that has reached the ears of the court. My king knows that his marriage must appear strong, and though we know that it is, the outside eye would see trouble.”  
I saw trouble, but I was even more of an outsider than most, so what did I know? Only my way around court intrigue and gossip.   
“Sending you away probably helps stem some of the rumours,” I guess, Costis nods. 

We keep walking into the early evening, making up some of the time we lost yesterday with our impromptu fight and need to dry off. As the sky is just changing colour from the lightest of pinks to a more hazy violet we come across another cave that had been used by some unknown travelers before us. There was some wood stacked by the entrance, and Costis used that to get a fire started while I went to collect more. By the time I returned the flames were bright and high, and he was sitting next to it, sandels off, staring into the sky.   
“We’ll have to look for more food tomorrow,” I say, dropping the wood in a pile and settling down next to him, “the meat is almost run out.”   
“Mm. I hope we find more goats. We should now we’re starting to descend again.” He holds his arm out to me as he speaks and I shuffle closer in the dirt to rest my head against his shoulder.   
“Tonight though,” he continues, “We eat tough meat and thank the gods it’s not caggi.”

By the time we’ve finished eating I’m all but vibrating with anticipation. We are warm and dry by the fire, we made good time with our walking today, we have eaten our full even if it wasn’t the nicest.   
“I’m not too cold,” I try awkwardly, Costis looks at me, eyebrows raised.  
“No,” he says, “Neither am I.”   
I blink at him. “I could even stand wearing less, the fire is warm enough.”  
“I wouldn’t go that far,” Costis says, then, “Oh, oh right.” He shifts a little so he can look down at me properly, tips his head to the side, “You will tell me immediately if you are at all uncomfortable.”  
“I’ll be fine,” I tell him, a little too sharply, “I want this.”  
“Kamet, please. Will you tell me if you are uncomfortable?”   
He is looking at me with such pleading concern that I immediately sigh, nod my head, “I will.”   
He’s on me before I’ve even had time to inhale again, and I wonder how much self control he has if he has been stopping himself from jumping me all day. Then I remember he punched his king and am further confused. I shuffle backwards, away from the fire, dragging him by the shirt so that his lips don’t leave mine. He pushes me back against our packs, soft with the blankets in them, and hovers over me on his hands and knees a moment before sitting up, perching on my hips with his weight in his knees on either side of me, and takes his shirts off. I consider telling him to just leave them on so he doesn’t get chilly, but the view is too nice to bother being considerate. I run my hands down his torso, revelling in the muscles and the heat of him, before coming to rest on the band of his trousers to fumble at the tie holding them up. He doesn’t move to stop me, but he does impede me by leaning forwards to keep kissing me. He holds me firmly, one hand on my jaw, the other at the base of my neck. I would think he doesn’t care at all if his pants come off except I can feel him getting hard beneath my hands.   
It takes me far too long to get his trousers undone, when I finally succeed I pull away from him long enough to say, “Take these off.”  
I kiss him while he struggles to take his trousers off without overbalancing and falling on top of me, I can’t find just one spot I want to touch, so I run my hands up and down his back, the curve of his arse. He has to pull away from me to get the legs off over his feet, and once he’s thrown the trousers to one side he kneels in front of me and starts to undo mine.   
“Yes?” he asks, pausing his hands, and I roll my eyes theatrically, feel my heart twist with affection.   
“Yes.” I reply firmly, and he pulls my trousers off, kisses me from my ankles up, bites the soft skin of my thighs, then surges up to kiss me hard, hard, harder, until I am gasping in his mouth and my eyes are rolling back in my head. He is reaching down my body while he kisses me, rubs me through the thin cloth of my small clothes. I want to reach in between us, put my hand next to his and take his cock in mine but I can’t bear to disrupt the kiss we are in. My arms are slung tightly around his waist, my nails digging into his back. With one hand he is cupping my cheek so softly it almost cancels out what he is doing with the other hand. I don’t think anyone has ever kissed me for so long. I am simply waiting for him to get bored of it and tell me to suck him off, even though he hasn’t asked for anything yet, even though it is him with his hand on my cock, I am waiting for him to ask. Instead he asks, “Can I take your smalls off?”  
I would think that having got this far the answer ought to be obvious, but after the previous night I can’t really blame him for being cautious.   
“Yes,” I pant out, “take yours off too,” I add after a second, then, “what is it you want?”   
“You,” he replies, sliding my smalls down, “I want to see you climax,” he says into the skin of my stomach as he leans down so he can finish taking my smalls off, then he sits up to take his own off.   
My face is burning, heat spreading from my cheeks down my neck onto my chest. I feel as if I am made of fire, my cheeks aflame, my chest warm, my groin burning with desire.   
He doesn’t come back up to kiss me, instead he settles in between my knees, presses kiss after kiss to my ribs, to my stomach, just under my navel, into the coarse hair leading down. I arch my back, every thought running through my mind is nonsensical but it all seems to be along the lines of Costis’ name, and my thoughts are leaking out of my mouth until my every breath is just his name as he takes me in his mouth. I cannot believe that out of all the things he could have had tonight he has chosen to suck my cock first, and perhaps it is that thought alone that makes me so reactive to his every kiss, or perhaps he is simply just that talented. I suppose you have to be if you’re catering to a royal audience.   
I tug at his hair when I am close to coming, but he doesn’t pull off, just tilts his head slightly so he can see my face better. I wish he wouldn’t, because the intensity is screwing my face up, causing my jaw to shake, it is certainly not my best angle. I can’t tell if he is still watching my face as I orgasm though, my eyes squeeze shut and I throw my head back.  
I keep my head back, hanging over the ground, my eyes closed. I struggle to catch my breath, as Costis swallows, mouth still around me. He kisses my shaking thighs, then crawls up my body until he is covering me completely with his warmth, presses his face into my stretched neck, mouths at my erratic pulse.   
“You ok?” he mumbles, a little hoarse. I nod, lift my head then duck it down again to kiss him.   
“I guess after that,” I say, “I have to admit that there are some things Attolians are better at.”   
He snorts, grins widely at me, “Nice to hear you say so.”   
I would like to lie here underneath him forever, feeling utterly relaxed and satisfied, but I can feel his cock hard against my thigh and it would be very rude of me to go to sleep now. I place my hand against his shoulder and push him, “Roll over,” I say. He grunts a little as his bare back presses into the cold ground, grunts again when I climb up to sit astride his hips. I lean forward over his body to kiss him, to ask him very quietly as if worried someone might overhear us;   
“Will you fuck me?” I ask him in Attolian, worried that he won’t know the Mede for it.   
“If you want,” he replies, not quite the level of enthusiasm I was hoping for, and I pull away a little to frown down at him.   
“Well I do,” I say, “Do you not want to?”   
He reaches up to cup my face in his hands, “Of course I want to fuck you,” he says firmly, “I just wanted it to be something you wanted as well.”  
“I asked you for it,” I point out, and he shrugs.   
“Maybe I am over cautious,” he smiles at me, “I care about you, I want this to be good for you.”   
“So,” I let my face soften, “make it good then.” 

I probably shouldn’t have worried about him not knowing the Mede for ‘fucking’, he pants out a good number of positively filthy words like it in Mede after I lower myself onto his cock. He grips me tightly, one hand on my hip, the other on my thigh, doesn’t move until I relax under his hands and nod at him. When he does move, it’s to first sit up against me until we are chest to chest. He holds me by the arse and the back of my neck, kisses me as he moves us in rhythm. I can’t even think in Attolian, my brain is too busy with the feeling of him, and all that comes from my mouth is harshly bitten out invocations first in Mede, then in Setran. I can feel the flickering heat of the fire on my back, the solid heat of my Attolian against my front, inside me, on my mouth, my neck, everything is fuzzy with warmth and pleasure. I let myself imagine that I will not leave him. I let myself imagine that we are the two lovers on a hike, that we are in no danger, are hiding no betrayal. He is breathing heavily against my neck, his forehead pressed against my lips, his sweat salty in my mouth as I kiss him gently.   
It isn’t until after he cums, after he whispers my name fervently, that I realise I had been expecting him to call out another name. I berate myself silently for my jealousy, even with him inside of me. 

After we’ve cleaned ourselves up, or rather, after Costis has cleaned the both of us up while I stretched luxuriously in front of the fire, we gather up our blankets and wrap ourselves together. We are both sweaty, days of walking up and down mountains gave us a rather musky stale odour that the both of us were used to now, but also the tangy smell of fresh sweat. I complain about it half heartedly, and he suggests we could always bathe in one of the stream rivers.   
“If I freeze my balls off we won’t be able to recreate tonight’s activities,” I point out and he gasps in mock horror, then laughs and tells me I will just have to put up with being so dirty. 

Once he is asleep, I find myself still awake, too wound up to force my brain into silence. He’s holding me loosely in his arms against his front, and I stare at his shadowed face until I am upset. I don’t want to leave him. If I try hard enough I can almost imagine going to Attolia with him and not caring about the consequences of my lies, if it means I can spend more time with him. I know that once I leave him, I will never see him again. Unless of course he finds me, but then we would no longer be companions, I would have to be his captive because he would know I was leaving him. I want to be able to tell him that it is not him I am leaving. I whisper the words into the dark air. He does not stir. I try to sleep. 

I wake to the sound of Costis humming as he sharpens his hunting knife. When I sit up he tosses me some food, “Have the last of it,” he says, “I’ll try and catch something before dinner tonight.”   
As I chew I realise that he probably hadn’t eaten, and I wrestle between wanting to put off feeling so sickly hungry for as long as possible, and wanting Costis to not have to feel sickly hungry. Eventually the second feeling wins out and I offer half to Costis, who looks down at it in my hand then up at me with his eyes raised.   
“Is there something wrong with it?”   
“Yes, it’s very tough and almost tasteless. Eat it,” I push it closer to him.  
“I’m fine,”   
“I am sure you are, but you should still eat something before we start off.”  
He puts down his knife and reaches out past my outstretched hand to stroke my face, “Love,” he says softly, “I am trained to get by on nothing if need be. You, however, get as grumpy and as feral as a sick cat.”   
I would protest, but it is true. Mulishly I pull my hand back and continue eating, both pleased and unhappy with the outcome. 

Just after our midday lunch, in which we have no food but drink a lot of water, we spot a herd of goats in the distance. Costis walks ahead of me for the next few hours, trying to keep both me and our hopefully future dinner in his sights, and then when the path is too obvious for even me to stray off it he follows the goats instead. He waits for me to catch up to him before he goes, tells me to whistle if I need him, that if I am attacked to run not to fight, and to call for him. Neither of us think it is likely I will even meet any other travellers on the path, we hadn’t seen anyone since we began to climb the Taymets, but we both worry anyway. It is very peaceful to be walking alone, all the surrounding sound of the mountains seem to both fade into the distance and get louder. It is very strange to be walking alone, I hadn’t been so fully in my own company in a long time, I was so used to Costis’ constant company that before even the first hour of being alone was up I was already lonely. At every crack in the distance I was both hopeful that it was him returning to me, and terrified it was the Namreen, or slave hunters, or even just some random traveller who might take advantage of my being unarmed and alone.   
When he finally returned to the path and me, he had another goat slung around his shoulders, and my relief at seeing him must have been very visible because he lifted one hand to my face and said in a voice thick with worry, “Did something happen?”   
“No, no,” I shook my head, covered his hand with mine, “I was only worrying about you.”   
He smiles, kisses me, and we keep walking. 

We make camp under a rocky over hang as the birds start singing their evening chorus, and Costis builds a fire up using wood easily found from the trees around us. I sit in the dirt and sharpen more sticks for us to repeat the method of cooking goat. The air is warmer now than it was just the day before, but still chilly enough that I sit hunched over trying to preserve my warmth from walking, and once the fire is lit and blazing, I shuffle closer.   
I am still sharpening sticks when Costis begins to butcher the goat, but he stops after just a few strokes, and motions for me to come closer.   
“You wanted to learn how to do this, yes?” he asks, and I nod hesitantly, not sure if I really am willing to get my hands so messy this time.   
He hands me the knife, then circles round to crouch behind me so as to guide my movements, and talks me through the process. I am not as strong as him, and it is much harder work than I had thought, but when I struggle he covers my hand with his own and lends his strength to me before drawing back and letting me do it myself.   
It takes a long time, and I make a terrible mess of some parts of it, as well as a terrible mess of my top shirt, but Costis only speaks approvingly. He kisses my cheek when I am done. We sit together and skewer the meat on my many sticks, and then I sit and char them over the flames. While I cook, he tells me to take my shirt off, wipe my hands clean on it. I oblige him, hand him my shirt and he takes it as well as our water skins and says he will go find a river to wash out the blood and fill our skins.   
Seeing as I don’t know how long he will take, I cook the meat until it is hard, for travelling, not wanting to cook our dinner until he is back and we can eat it still hot and juicy. I sit there, crouched in reach of stray sparks, and imagine that I am his wife waiting for him to return from work. I imagine a small forest cottage, he could have built it, I could have painted it. I imagine him kissing me when he comes back, smelling of hard work, him sitting opposite me at a table eating what I have cooked and praising my efforts. I imagine going to bed with him, sleeping on a soft mattress with blankets enough that we don’t have to sleep pressed together, but sleeping skin to skin anyway because it’s more comfortable that way.   
I very thoroughly burn the first batch of meat. I decide it is still edible, hope that Costis will not care, he is a soldier after all, used to boring or almost inedible food. I scoff at my imaginings, it is a good thing Costis is a soldier, if I was his wife I doubt I would ever be able to cook anything actually tasty. That was never a job I had been expected to do.   
When Costis returns, he does lean down and kiss me before spreading my damp shirt out over a rock near the fire to dry. He sits opposite me as we eat, makes noises of appreciation at the hot meat, puts his hand on my knee in unspoken thanks. After we have eaten, I return to cooking and Costis disappears again to bury the bones, and I return to my imaginations.   
They are bittersweet. For just moments at a time I can imagine myself in our small cottage, in our warm bed, but then I always have to come back to reality. Reality is of course quite uncomfortable, the hard ground, the cold that never really leaves once the night sets in, digging down into your bones, the knowledge that what I have with Costis will last only until Zaboar. There is no happy ending for us, there is no future together, there is no small cottage, no warm bed, no gentle kisses at the end of a peaceful day.   
When he returns again I am quite upset with myself. There is no point in dwelling on my very present future, what needs to happen must happen and I just have to get over myself. It is better to be sad than dead. I think Costis notices my foul mood straight away, but he does not comment on it until all the meat is wrapped, the fire banked low, and the two of use wrapped in our blankets. He holds me in his arms and kisses my forehead, my cheek bones, my jaw, asks, “What is the matter, Kamet?”   
I shift in his arms until I am lying with my back to his chest before replying, “Nothing of importance,”   
“But something?”   
“Only that I am tired of sleeping on the ground,” I tug at his arms to pull them tighter around me, “I keep teasing myself with thoughts of sharing a bed with you.”   
Costis huffs a laugh into my hair, “Soon enough, dearling,” he says, “although maybe Attolian beds are not quite as comfortable as Mede ones.” He is teasing me and I move my arm backwards to elbow him lightly.  
“Any bed would be better than the cold dirt here,” I reply, “and even the dirt is improved with your presence.” 

 

As we walk the next day, coming in and out of copses of trees scattered along the rocky way, I think about the king. I wonder if he will be more upset at me for having taken advantage of him and then escaping before he can exact revenge for it, or if he will be angrier at me for hurting his lover with my lies and leaving. It is my opinion that it would be the former but I am sure Costis would think it the latter, though of course I cannot actually ask him his opinion. I’m not sure who’s anger would be preferable if they got their hands on me, the Attolian king’s, or the emperor’s. At least the emperor’s anger would be somewhat familiar, I would know what to expect of my punishment and eventual death. I had no idea what levels of spite would induce the Attolian’s to do to me. I try my best not to appear melancholy, but I am sure that Costis knows that I am stewing over something. After we have eaten lunch, he finally interrupts my morbid thoughts and insists that I tell him a story to break the monotonous scenery.   
I ask if he wants to hear more of Immakuk and Ennikar and he bumps our shoulders together, “Of course,” he says, “I feel a great deal of kinship with them.”  
I tell him the story of the goddess of fertility seeing Immakuk’s great beauty and lusting after him immensely, how she came to him and asked him to be her husband and he turned her down.   
“He turned down a goddess?” Costis asks incredulously, and I nod.  
“He had good reasons,” I say, “This is what he told the goddess -” 

What could I offer  
the queen of love in return, who lacks nothing at all?  
Balm for the body? The food and drink of the gods?  
I have nothing to give to her who lacks nothing at all.

I continue the story, of the goddesses rage and her war against Immakuk, how Immakuk and Ennikar took on the battle and defeated the goddesses’ champion. 

“His reasons for turning down marriage to a goddess was because he knew she would eventually get bored of him?” Costis asks when I finish, “nothing more?”   
I shrug, “I think not wanting to be turned into some sorrowful beast is reason enough, surely?”   
“So,” Costis agrees, “but what I am really asking is if he did not want to marry at all, does he end up with a wife in the tales?”   
“As we don’t have all the tablets we can’t say for sure, but in the stories I know he doesn’t marry, no.”   
I am not sure why Costis is pressing this point, but he continues needling, “He never wanted to marry anyone? What do you think?”  
I do like being asked my opinion on scholarly topics, I stay quiet a moment to think of my answer.   
“We hear of his many...dalliances with women throughout the epic, but there are none for him which are more than bodily desire I do not think. We see Ennikar and the witch of Urkell share a more intimate relationship, but I do not think that Immakuk truly loved any woman, although I am sure he must have married at some point, as king it would have been unwise not to.”   
“What of his love for Ennikar?” Costis asks and I understand his line of questioning now.   
“Ennikar could not bear him children,” I say flatly.   
“Well I cannot bear children for my king,” Costis says, “nor do I need to to lie with him.”   
“It is a hotly disputed subject,” I relent, “whether or not Immakuk and Ennikar were indeed lovers, despite their various relations with women. I believe that they were, that they loved each other greatly, like man and wife. I am likely biased, but I am not alone in this belief.”  
Costis nods, drops the subject and thanks me for telling the story. I wait a few more minutes, sorting through my thoughts, and then ask, “Do you want children?”   
He looks over at me, surprised, and I think he is going to brush the question away.   
“Yes,” he says eventually, “but I am not very well positioned in life to have them.”   
“You do not think you will marry? I know being in the guard takes up a lot of time but a lot of men have families anyway.”   
He repositions his bag on his shoulders and looks very unhappy as he says, “I do not think it would be kind of me to marry a woman. I don’t think I could make her happy and I doubt she would make me happy.”   
“Oh,” I frowned, “You’ve been with women before,” I point out, “enough that you lost all your money.”   
His face colours brightly. “It was an experience,” he says slowly, “and I don’t regret having had that experience, and I certainly don’t deny that I enjoyed it, despite the humiliation it caused me, but having had that experience and then being with men,” he shrugged, “it’s no comparison.”   
Nodding, I say, “I see.”  
“And you?” he asks, “Do you want children?”   
This feels ridiculously like a conversation between a newly married couple considering when would be best to produce offspring. I don’t let myself think about that. I laugh, “I am a slave,” I remind him, not unkindly, “even if I could form a close relationship with someone so as to create a child, I would not have the time or the permission to be much more than an acquaintance with them.”  
“Maybe so,” Costis says, “but you are not a slave anymore, and anyway, that was an answer to a different question, do you want children?”  
I realise that this conversation is entirely my fault, but I still resent him for it. “I don’t know,” I shrug, “I haven’t put too much thought into it.”   
I had liked to imagine that when I was older, Nahuseresh would grant me my freedom, and as an old man I could spend my days writing and tutoring young children. Other days when I was feeling more adventurous I liked to imagine that Marin and I had run away together and made a life as man and wife. I could work as a scribe to support the both of us, and we would have beautiful children, no more than three. She would teach them to sing, to cook, to laugh, I would teach them languages, counting, history. I suppose with my new plan of leaving Costis in Zaboar that would open my life up to my chances of marrying and having children, but I suspected I would never truly feel safe enough to get that close to someone again. I imagined going to Attolia with Costis, I imagined that Nahuseresh was alive, that Costis was right that his king was kind, that we lived on a small farm in the Gede valley near his family, that we had goats and orphaned children running around together in our yard. I would learn how to make cheese, how to cook, how to swim. I realise that Costis is watching me, his face soft and curious, and I blush just slightly, amend my previous answer.   
“I have thought of it occasionally, only as a fantasy. I can’t believe I ever will have children of my own now though.”   
“That is a pity,” Costis says, “you would have such beautiful children.”   
It is entirely ridiculous that he is complimenting my looks through my non-existent children. I imagine all my children with a mop of sandy haired curls. 

In the evening we sit away from our fire in the dark so our eyes don’t go dull in the light as we stare up at the star speckled sky. I get Costis to tell me what constellations he sees, and once I have matched it up to what I know in my head, I tell him the Mede version of it. I describe a few more to him, wait while he searches the sky, then tell him those stories. The air is chilly, but we have a blanket draped around our shoulders, and I am sitting in between Costis’ legs, my back pressed against his chest, my head on his shoulder. His arms are slung low around my waist, his hands linked together just under my navel. He is a quick learner, remembering the various constellations I tell him about, the Mede names, their stories. I am running out of stars to ask him to look for when he lets go of his hands and slips one of them under the hem of my shirt to rest on the skin of my stomach. He is still talking, still staring up at the sky as he searches out a constellation. While he talks, I take his other hand in mine and shift it down to rest in my lap. I can feel the cold of his hand even through my breeches, as well as the shocking cold of his skin on mine. He ducks his head down to kiss the skin behind my ear, then bites my earlobe and whispers, “I love listening to you talk, tell me more stories,” and presses with his hand against my cock until he can grip it through the fabric.   
I search my mind quickly for another constellation I could tell him about with a longer story, and my mind, cliched, offers up the story of the lovers. I begin to tell it, first explaining what the constellation looks like, and Costis nods, tells me he knows it. I am undoing my trouser laces for him, and as soon as they are loose enough he slips his hand down, under my small clothes. My voice stutters just slightly as he takes hold of my cock, but I continue talking slow and even. He kisses my neck softly, slides his hand up my stomach, over my chest, strokes my cock as slow as my voice. I can feel him getting hard against me, and I shuffle a little closer towards him to put my weight against it. I tip my head forward until my chin is on my chest so I can watch as I talk. It doesn’t take long until I am stumbling over my words, substituting whole lines for cursing, my hips moving unconsciously in rhythm with his hand. I give up on trying to speak coherently, tip my head back until he kisses me. He pulls away after only a few moments, drags his lips along my jaw, mumbles, “Keep talking.”   
I moan at the injustice of it all, moan again as he sucks at my throat, then continue haltingly, breathlessly. I cum only a few short lines later, and I relax against him boneless and exhausted for the space of a few long breaths, then turn in his arms so I am facing him. His cheekbones are pink, his eyes are glazed, his mouth is half open. He looks as if I had been the one rubbing him off instead of the other way round, and I don’t waste anytime in pushing my hand down his pants to take hold of him. He scrabbles to loosen his laces, and once his cock is free, I continue the story, dragging it out slowly until he cums as well, gripping my shoulders painfully tight, his head bowed, chin to his chest, forehead to mine.   
Once he has recovered enough to remember how to breathe, he pulls me closer to him to kiss me, teeth and tongue prominent. “Love your voice,” he mumbles in between kisses, “love your hands,” he pulls away to look me in the eyes and I am very afraid of what he might say next. I can imagine him looking at me just as he is now, saying - Love you - and me staring at him and blurting out that Nahuseresh is dead and I am a liar, and please, please don’t be angry. “You,” he says, “Are amazing.” I kiss him again, then climb out of his lap to stand and stretch, then offer him a hand.   
We clean up, go to bed.   
I lie on his chest, wanting to be as close as possible, knowing that I won’t squish him. Wait until he is absolutely asleep, his face gone soft, his lips parted, his breath heavy.   
“I love you,” I tell the night, quiet enough that I can barely hear it myself. 

 

  
Costis tells me that we are almost out of the Taymets now, which I knew, we had been descending rapidly the last few days, and I wasn’t an idiot. Still, hearing the words made my heart sink. I didn’t want to go back to the so called real world, I didn’t want to make it to Zaboar just so I could leave Costis, I didn’t want to have to hide from him. I half consider purposefully tripping on some of the more difficult paths, I could try and land awkwardly to break my arm, and then we would have to stay in the Taymets long enough for me to heal sufficiently to travel. Of course I know I will absolutely not do that, but every time my foot slips even a little my heart jumps into my mouth, convinced that I am actually going to get my stupid wish. What actually happens each time, is that Costis takes my arm and I get to the next stable bit easily, and the morning’s walk passes without event.   
We eat lunch in a beautifully lush clearing by a stream, perching on sun dappled mossy rocks and and dipping our toes in the painfully cold water. I consider the position of the sun in the sky once we have finished eating and Costis is reaching for his bag, and then push against him. “Let’s nap,” I suggest, “It’s very hot.” I have no intentions of napping. Costis doesn’t say no, so I hop off my rock and stretch out in the grass. Costis watches me lie down, then takes his blanket from his bag and walks over to me. He nudges me with a foot until I roll over, and he lays the blanket on the ground like a rug, sits down on top of it, and reaches over to me to roll me onto the blanket with him. I put my head in his lap, close my eyes as he runs his fingers through my hair, over my face, down my neck. It is exceedingly relaxing, and I soften like butter in the sun as his hands rub my shoulders, smooth down the front of my shirt, caresses my jaw. I am imagining that we are by the sea, that he has been teaching me to swim, that when we are dry from the sun we will pack up our towels and lunch scraps and walk home. I imagine we keep bees like Cassia so we always have honey for our tea. I imagine a wide bed with soft stuffing and thick duvets. He kisses me softly, bending awkwardly over me, and I settle for reality. 

When we continue walking I do not think of letting myself fall. Even if I did manage to get a few more days with Costis I would still have to leave him, and it would be harder to leave him if I had a broken arm. After we have made camp that evening, he stands a few feet away, looking into the dimly lit distance. “I think we have about one more full day of walking,” he tells me, “we will be out of here soon and find someplace for a decent meal and a wash.” He smiles at me, he’s expecting me to be very pleased, so I smile back.   
“I have missed being clean,” I reply, holding up my dirt ingrained hand, “I don’t think I have ever gone so long without a proper bath” 

“What do you miss the most about Attolia?” I ask as we eat dinner.   
“It’s a toss up between the heat and my friends,” he sees after a moment’s deliberation, “there is a lot I miss, but I think those two are the main ones currently,” he smiles wryly at me.   
I ask him about his friends and he talks about them with such happiness I can’t help but smile. He says that he cannot wait for me to meet them once things settle down after our arrival, that I would like Aris because he is very good at pretending to be sensible. I nod and smile along with him, pretending that I will meet his friends, almost believing it, until he mentions going to see his sister to make up for probably missing her wedding, suggests very casually that I could go with him and see his home as well. He is inviting me into his home, to meet his family. I nod, stiff as if my bones were slowly becoming brittle and my joints were soldering together. “I would like that,” I tell him truthfully. 

I wake before the sun does, far too early, but cannot force myself back into sleep. I lie in his arms and imagine that I am enveloped in swathes of linen, laid out in a tomb back in Ianna Ir alongside my master’s body. I ought to be dead, by all rights, my master was dead, all his slaves would now be dead, I would now be dead. If I had stayed in the palace, I would never have seen Costis again, I would never be lying in his arms dreading him waking up and leading us further to the point of time in which I have to leave him. I could be peacefully dead, not aching inside and out. But then all of my life would have accounted to nothing. Everything I had put up with, sacrificed, worked for would have gone to waste. Maybe I wasn’t getting what I thought was my due, but at least this way I could do something with what I had been given.   
I lie in his arms and imagine we are the two lovers on a hike.


	2. Fall into the clouds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which I jump straight back into Attolia

Costis paced in the rooms hastily re-assigned to him. It was just the standard, a small cot and table, a singular stool. Someone had left him new armour and a basic sword on the cot on top of the folded blankets, but he hadn’t moved to put them away or on. He had missed being so obviously an Attolian guard, missed knowing he could rely on his uniform to keep him safe. Still, he didn’t want to fall so quickly back into his old role yet, not while he was still so entangled in confusion about what he had just done. 

He had thought that it was a reasonably straight-forward plan, at least by Eugenides' standards. Disadvantage Nahuseresh by taking his secretary, bring the secretary back to Eugenides - who would probably have some other reason for wanting Kamet in Attolia as well. The danger in fleeing the country was a risk he knew he was probably going to encounter, maybe it had been a bit more touch and go then he had thought it would be, but still predictable. Less predictable was how much he had enjoyed Kamet’s company. It had not even crossed his mind that Kamet would betray him. That Eugenides would betray him. He wasn’t sure whose betrayal stung more. Wasn’t sure it was even betrayal, or, if it was, wasn’t sure that that was what stung most.

 

He had missed so much while away from Attolia. He had thought, for months, that maybe what he was experiencing in the Empire with Kamet would make up for it, but now he was not so sure. If it turned out that everything he thought he had had was a fabrication then his only consolation was that at least he did as his king asked. He wished it didn’t feel like only a consolation - it had been what he had set out to achieve after all.

The room was too small to achieve a truly satisfying pace. Every time he slowed before turning to retrace his footsteps his thoughts seemed to scatter again, until it seemed that he was more disorganised than he had been before. He didn’t want to stop. Couldn’t stop. If he stopped he would be able to feel his grief easier. He didn’t want that, not yet. 

The light falling into the room through the small window had slanted slowly over the next few hours until there was only a pale stripe on the opposite wall, and then that too had gone. The room was dim, only faintly lit by the torch light from out in the hallway and the courtyard outside the window. Costis had paused in his pacing, his face pressed against the cold wall by the window, not looking out of it. His hand was over his face. He didn’t take it away when the curtain rungs slowly rattled back into place. 

“I wasn’t sure you would come,” he said, voice low, and was met with a scoff. 

“Won’t you look at me,” the king said from the doorway, not a question. Costis dropped his hand, shifted his weight until his shoulder pressed against the wall, and turned his head to look at his king. Could not look him in the face, stares instead at the heavily embroidered fabric across his chest.

“I do understand why you didn’t tell me,” he says slowly, bitterly, “that does not mean that it doesn’t hurt.” 

“It was safer this way,” the king said unapologetically. He stayed by the curtain, hand twitching. 

“So, so, so,” Costis nodded stiffly, “maybe it is just harder for me to accept because I saw how terrified Kamet was of telling me.” 

“If he had stayed he would never have been safe, and we would never have the chance to strike at the Medes before they strike at us again.” The king sounded frustrated, but mostly exhausted, “Costis,” he says, “I am sorry for putting you in that position, but I need you to know that I will do it again if I need to.” 

“You are my king,” Costis said brusquely, “You know I will do whatever you ask of me.” 

He watches as the king approaches, just a few steps towards him, pauses, rocking forward on the balls of his feet as if he’s unsure.

“Am I just your king, then?” he asks, voice too quiet to betray emotion, and Costis finally lifts his eyes to his lover’s face. He reaches out, brushes his fingers against velvet and frippery. 

“Gen,” he breathes, and Eugenides exhales as well, “I am upset. With you, for you, for myself. It does not mean I stopped loving you.” 

It is as if a wall has dropped away from Eugenides, letting his emotions free to crumple his face and wobble his voice. He’s not standing here as the king anymore.  
“Gods,” he gasps, steps into the space between them, presses his forehead against Costis’ shoulder, “I have been terrified all year of losing you. Then with - with Irene and the baby…” he pauses, shudders as if the thought of it all is too overpowering and Costis wraps his arms tightly round his shoulders, cups the back of his head, feels the grief as if it were his own. Eugenides continues, voice low and muffled, “I have regretted sending you away constantly. You are welcome to be angry with me, I just ask that we do the arguing after I miss you a little less.”  
“You are impossible,” Costis says, voice thick, presses his face into Eugenides’ hair, “I missed you so much.”  
They stand for a moment, both of them pulling the other impossibly closer, their grips painfully tight but still not tight enough. Eugenides pulls away first, doesn’t bother to wipe the tears off his face, instead lifts his hand to dab at Costis’. 

“If it’s possible,” he says slowly, “you’re even more beautiful than before.”  
“Please,” Costis chuckles wetly, “absence fools you.”  
“Maybe,” Eugenides sniffs, “you are changed though,” he runs his hand over Costis’ cheek, hooks his fingers round the back of his neck to press into his curls, “your hair is longer”. He steps back, keeps his hand in Costis’ hair, looks him up and down carefully. “You’re more...weathered, rugged almost, yet you seem softer,” they locked eyes, and Costis smiled softly down at him.  
“You ought to have seen me up close with my terrible beard, you would have hated it.”  
“I would have,” Eugenides agreed easily, “I’m glad you got rid of it, there is only so much stubble burn I can put up with.” He drops his hand down from Costis’ hair, drags his palm down the front of his shirt as if marvelling at the muscles underneath. When his hand reached his stomach, he gripped the material tight and tugged sharply down until Costis leans over. It’s a kiss made up of a year’s worth of anguish and confusion, and it is all sharp edges. This time it is Costis who pulls away first, eyes closed, lips parted, chest heaving. Eugenides’ follows, pressing his lips against Costis’ again just briefly before releasing him. “Tell me,” he says. 

Costis leans back against the wall, tips his head back and sighs heavily, but when he ducks his head back down to look at Eugenides, he’s smiling. He reaches out, takes Eugenides’ hand and leads him to the bed to sit. Once Eugenides is sitting, he picks up his armour to put away, piece by piece. As he moves he says, “I am not so sure there is anything left to tell you now,” Eugenides narrows his eyes, says, “Yet you still want to tell me?”  
“I do,” Costis replied, seriously, turns away again to put away another piece, “neither of you deserve it to be kept secret, and I don’t want it to be a secret either, I am not ashamed.”  
“Costis, will you please stop stringing me on.”  
He turns to look at Eugenides, sitting on the very edge of the bed looking utterly confused. “You don’t know what I’m talking about?” he asks slowly, and Eugenides shakes his head.  
“I am not quite as omniscient as I make myself out to be, apparently,” he says with unconvincing gloominess.  
Costis sits next to him, the bed creaking, kisses his king’s cheek. “Kamet,” he says, and Eugenides’ eyebrows lift.  
“Kamet?” he repeats, and Costis nods, looks down at his hands gathered in his lap.  
“We were- I was - am, in love,” he says slowly, “at least that is what I thought it was. We never said it to each other, but I thought he knew what I felt. After Zaboar though - he pulled away. I know now it was because he was anticipating first leaving to escape you, and then because he thought he was doomed. I don’t know how much of what we shared was real, it felt real-” he pauses, suddenly unable to go on, and Eugenides reaches across his body into Costis’ lap to take his hand. “Oh, my dear,” he breathes, “I didn’t know.”  
“No,” Costis nods his head, squeezes Eugenides’ hand in his, “I hated to see him so upset, so panicked. He thought you would kill him for Nahuseresh’s death, and that -” he shakes his head, “I think that is why I was so upset that I didn’t know of the trick. If I had known I could have put his fear to rest much earlier, but I also know that I can’t say for sure he would have come with me anyway, even if we were friends.”  
“I see,” Eugenides said softly, and he did. He leaned up against Costis to kiss his jaw, then dropped his head on his shoulder. “What torture and uncertainty love is,” he says, and Costis nudges his cheek with his shoulder, rolls his eyes, drops his own head to rest atop of Eugenides’.  
“Tell me more,” Eugenides says, and Costis lifts his head and shifts so he can look at Eugenides’ face. “I am not jealous,” Eugenides replied to Costis’ look, “I like Kamet, I am unwilling to believe that he would lead you on with love if he did not mean it.”  
“He was always worried about you,” Costis said softly, and Eugenides lifted one eyebrow, “despite all my reassurances he worried you would be angry. With me, or him, though I think he was worried more for me seeing as he had no plans on ever meeting you...again,” he adds, pointedly, and Eugenides chuckles. “You have so many secrets, my king, that sometimes I wonder if you are a man at all or simply just a very compressed series of plots in the shape of a human.”  
“Why Costis, I do believe that is the sweetest thing you have ever said to me,” Eugenides replied sardonically, then, “but you are deflecting, my dear.”  
“He thinks I am an idiot,” he shrugged, and Eugenides sat up as he was jostled, “he thinks I ought to have realised what was going on, and that you have taken me in in more ways than one. I think I agree with him. About me being an idiot, that is.”  
“Isn’t that part of your charm?” Eugenides suggests, but relents when Costis shoots him a dark look, “Only because I have missed you will I assuage your self pity. You’re not an idiot.” He says flatly, then continues, “Maybe sometimes too level headed that you miss some nuance of a ridiculous plot, but that is not a failing of yours. Kamet has been trained all his life to hide his own emotions and employ an appearance of calm, it is of no surprise that he was able to hide Nahuseresh’s faux-death from you.”  
Costis did not look at all appeased, if anything he appeared more upset than ever as he dropped his head into his hand, “Which makes it all the more easier to believe that he has no feelings for me,” he all but wailed, “I thought he was becoming more open but what if that was all an act?”  
Eugenides’ hit him, somewhat lightly, over the back of his head, “Why would he?” he asked, and when Costis just looked at him blankly, he said, “he had no reason to think that his life would be easier by faking a romance with you, I’m sure. Maybe a fake friendship, which I doubt he would attempt because deference is so much easier in situations like that, but not romance. Tell me, who approached the subject first?”  
“I don’t know,” Costis shook his head, looked at Eugenides, “I think it was him,” he looks so desperate that Eugenides reaches to cup his face, “he voiced it first, but I kissed him.”  
Despite Costis’ melancholy, Eugenides smiles widely, “I think you are overtired, and over thinking, and that if you love him he loves you too.”  
“Wouldn’t that be a lovely twist of fate,” Costis grumbled, “if everyone you loved loved you back.”  
“That’s not what I was implying, and you know it,” Eugenides said sharply, slipped his hand down and gripped Costis’ chin firmly to tug him round to look him in the face, “It just so happens that you are so easy to love, even while you are being so gloomy,” he squeezes Costis’ face in his hand to emphasise Costis’ frown, and Costis smiles instead. He covers the king’s hand with his own, leans forward to kiss him again.  
“I am sorry. I substituted complaining for arguing when I ought to have been kissing you more,” he says softly and Eugenides nods, presses closer.  
“Come back to royal chambers with me,” he suggests, “it is more comfortable there. And Irene would like to see you as well.”  
“Is she well enough?” Costis asks, hesitant, “I don’t want to tire her -”  
“Costis,” Eugenides shakes his head, “she has missed you as well, and seeing you will gladden her. Don’t try and be noble right now.” 

It is so very easy to slip back into their old routine of sneaking round corridors and through hidden paths. Eugenides always a step or two ahead or behind, pausing in darkened corners until he is sure that Costis is still keeping up. When he drops easily through the lightened window that leads into the Queen’s chambers, Costis follows only a little slower than usual.  
Irene is sitting up in her bed, barricaded with pillows and opulence, papers on her lap. She is overly pale, her face drawn and tired, but smiles when Costis enters the room. Eugenides walks easily over to her, sits carefully by her side and kisses her cheek. She takes his hand in hers and holds her other hand out to Costis, who dawdles a moment longer by the window then strides across the room. He doesn’t dare to sit on the bed for fear of dislodging her cushions, or rocking the bed uncomfortably, instead sinks to his knees beside the bed and takes her hand. He kisses it first, then presses it to his cheek, “My queen.”  
She pulls her hand away, pats the bed beside her, smiles wanly, “Sit,” she instructs, “we have missed you too much for you to seclude yourself to the floor.”  
He stands again, then settles himself carefully on the bed next to her and she leans up to kiss his cheek softly. He closes his eyes at the touch, and relaxes more visibly.  
“I have been crueller than I had expected to our poor Costis,” Eugenides says conversationally, and Irene turns to look at him, and then back at Costis, who in turn looks down at his knees.  
“Oh?” she prompts, and Eugenides reaches across her to rest his hooked arm over Costis’ knees, forcing him to look at him in some way.  
“He’s in love with the very thing I sent him to steal. Isn’t it funny how that happens sometimes?”  
There are a few moments of silence as the queen takes this in, and then she speaks to Costis, eyebrows raised. “I hope you did not follow in your king’s footsteps and propose to him in a damp boat.”  
“There were no proposals,” Costis says hurriedly, “and the boats were all nice and dry, especially the one that caught fire.”  
“I am looking forward to hearing all about this trip of yours,” Irene says, very much amused, “I have only heard the official reports.”  
“Of course,” Costis nods, “although I would suggest asking Kamet as well, he is a much better storyteller than I am.”  
“Perhaps the two of you could make a joint effort of it?” Irene suggests, and Eugenides clears his throat as Costis looks away again.  
“Costis is labouring under the idea that Kamet does not share his feelings,” he informed his wife, “the two of them had a rather tempestuous last meeting.”  
“So I had heard from Teleus,” Irene sighed, looked between her husband and her husband’s lover, then shook her head, “I take it, Eugenides, that you do not agree with Costis?”  
“Well,” Eugenides shrugged, “I am not in possession of all the facts but I do think that maybe Costis is panicking too quickly. He’s not had a chance to speak to Kamet since they were both released from our lovely prisons. Although,” he pauses here to look at Costis, “I happen to know that Kamet is very likely awake currently and not busy if you wanted to go see him?”  
Costis can’t tell from his tone whether or not Eugenides actually does want him to go see Kamet now, or if he would prefer him to stay. Eugenides had a habit of being somewhat greedy for show, but pushing people away when he would prefer to be greedy. Anyway-  
“I don’t want to force myself on him,” Costis says, “I’m sure he doesn’t want to see me right now. I’ll wait until he asks for me I think.”  
Irene is rolling her eyes, he’s sure of it, but he doesn’t look, keeps his eyes on Eugenides, who nods. He did want Costis to stay, even if he would like him to make up with Kamet, he wanted him here with him tonight.  
“So,” Irene says, leans lightly against Costis, “I am very pleased to see you looking so well at least, Costis, but I think it is time the two of you continued your reunion elsewhere so I can sleep.” Her tone is teasing, but also quite serious, she looked exhausted beyond belief.  
“I expect my husband back in bed with me by morning so you have until then.”  
Costis looked from his queen to his lover, knew that this particular conversation wasn’t over, just postponed, and nodded.  
“I’ll make sure he returns to you soon,” he said softly, and Irene snorted.  
“Not too soon, it’s been a year Costis, unlike me, he’s not just missed your conversation you know.”  
This comment should not have made him blush, but it did, and she smiled at him, touched his face gently as if in benediction, then leaned over to kiss Eugenides.  
The two of them clambered off of the large bed, Eugenides lingering to straighten the bed covers and stroke a loose lock of hair from the queen’s forrid before drawing away.  
“Come see me again tomorrow,” Irene said, looking at Costis, “I truly do want to hear of your time away, and I am bored of resting in solitude.”  
Costis nodded, pleased at this request, then took the king’s outstretched hand and followed him back to the window. 

The king’s rooms, when they reach them, are lit only by a small crackling fire, throwing shadows and red light over the plain walls.  
Costis paused in the doorway letting the feeling of familiarity and comfort wash over him, letting his eyes fall closed as he breathes in the smells of fire, ink, and the king’s scents.  
Eugenides, who had walked in ahead of him, turned back to face him, and then held his hand out, “Costis,” he said to get his attention, “you’ll be able to smell me better if you’re holding me.”  
“You are not even a little subtle,” Costis said tartly, opening his eyes simply to roll them, but stepped forward to take the offered hand.  
“Why would I bother with subtlety?” Eugenides asked, reeling Costis in until they stood chest to chest, “no one is here but the two of us, and we both already know what I want.”  
“I suppose this is true,” Costis mumbled, craning down to press a kiss to Eugenides’ forehead, “but won’t you tell me what you want anyway?”  
“Don’t I always?” Eugenides smirked, tipped his head back, “Kiss me,” he instructed, “then take off that boring shirt you’re wearing.”  
“Just because we don’t all like looking like parrots-” Costis grumbled, cupped Eugenides’ face with both hands and kissed him, “maybe I’ll keep it on just to annoy you,” he says against Eugenides’ lips, kisses him again before he can protest. When he pulls away again, the two of them gasping, Eugenides’ hand is tugging at the fabric of his shirt insistently, and his face is thunderous.  
“You’re going to take this shirt off or I’m going to take it off you,” he said, voice low, “and then you’re going to take your pants off, and only then are you going to take my clothes off.”  
Costis could only imagine too well that if he did not take his shirt off, the way Eugenides would assist him in undressing would be by slicing the shirt off his body with his hook. He stepped away from Eugenides, an action immediately undone as Eugenides stepped forward with him, unwilling to break their embrace for such mundanity as convenience.  
“Ridiculous,” Costis hissed down at him, pulled his shirt off awkwardly over his head while Eugenides followed the rise of the shirt with his hand, eager to touch the slowly revealed skin. It would have been fine, except Eugenides pressed close as Costis lifted the shift over his head, bit his nipple. Costis yelped, tangled himself momentarily in the fabric as Eugenides licked his way down from the stinging nipple to the waistband on his trousers, dropping uncomfortably to his knees. By the time he finally released himself from his shirt to look down at his king kneeling at his feet he was painfully hard.  
“You don’t exactly make this easy,” he said, trying and failing to sound irritated as he fumbled with his belt buckle while Eugenides mouthed at him through the material of his pants.  
With great difficulty he extricated himself from his remaining clothes, working around Eugenides, and then bent down to take his sandals off before gripping Eugenides under the arms and pulling him upright.  
The king’s face was flushed, his eyes bright, as he wound his arms round Costis’ neck and strained up on the balls of his feet to kiss him again, mouth hard and frantic with need, he said, “I have missed this.”  
Replying felt unnecessary with his cock pressing against Eugenides’ stomach, his hands fiddling with the buttons of the king’s shirt, so he simply kissed him again, again, again.  
With all the excessive embroidery and embellishments, undressing Eugenides was not quite as simple a task as undressing himself. He half tempted himself with the idea of calling in the attendants to assist him. 

Before Costis has finished undoing even half the buttons, Eugenides’ patience wears through, and he yanks the cloth off over his head before pulling Costis bodily over to the bed. Costis allows himself to be led, to be pushed down on his back onto the plush covers. He props himself up on his elbows and shuffles further backwards onto the bed until he can prop himself up against the cushions instead. Eugenides’ finishes de-robing and then climbs up after him. He sits himself down just below Costis’s hips, gripping him tightly between his thighs, and holds out his right arm. Costis’ fingers are slightly clumsy as he pulls at the laces and the clasps on the base of the hook. Like the rest of his king’s attire, these are just as intricate and fiddly to undo, and he is very out of practice. After a few moments, Eugenides’ reaches over with his hand to guide Costis’ fingers in the right directions, and then once he’s certain Costis has it under control, quickly makes it more difficult again by taking his cock in hand.  
“Incorrigible,” Costis hisses at him, which only encourages Eugenides into tightening his grip.  
The clasps release, and Costis resists the urge to throw the hook off the bed, instead leans over to place it carefully on the bedside table before turning back to Eugenides. Something about the scene in front of him reminds him achingly of Kamet. He pushes the thought away, promises himself he will talk to Eugenides about it later, but Eugenides has already stilled in Costis’ lap. He had noticed the quick flurry of emotions on Costis’ face, and watches with his eyes narrowed as he says, “Am I assuming too much?”  
“No,” Costis says possibly too quickly, “It’s just - I don’t want to be lying to you even if only by omission.”  
Eugenides stares at him a moment longer, then sits up on his knees and climbs off him to settle close by his side instead.  
“Go on,” he says.  
“We did more than kiss,” Costis begins and Eugenides immediately interrupts.  
“You know I don’t mind if you have sex with other people,” he says pointedly, “I am all for you and Kamet-”  
“Gen,” Costis protested. Eugenides fell silent, dropped his gaze to the coverlet.  
“I am well aware of the terms of our relationship,” Costis said irately, reaching out to take Eugenides’ hand in his, “but this is different. If only because I have spent the better part of a year with Kamet and without you, and I want you to be entirely in the loop before we fall back into normality. Or as normal as life can be with you and Kamet.”  
Eugenides waited.  
“I’m not worried about telling you that I had sex with Kamet, if that was something I would worry about I wouldn’t have done it. I want a life with him. That is what I wanted to tell you. I don’t know if he will want to make a life with me, but that is what I want. I need you to know that, but to also know that my want - my love- for you hasn’t changed.” He pauses here to look carefully at Eugenides whose face is impassive. “This was all a lot simpler in my head,” Costis admitted dolefully and now Eugenides smiled, squeezed Costis’ fingers.  
“It doesn’t have to be simple,” he shrugs, “simplicity often means it hasn’t been thought through enough.”  
“So,” Costis said, couldn’t think of anything else to say.  
“My dear,” Eugenides says, freeing his hand from Costis’ to touch his face, “I cannot begrudge you your love for Kamet, or your desire to be with him. That would make me more of a hypocrite than I am willing to be. I admit I am somewhat a... jealous person, but I meant it when I said you were free to be with me and anyone else-” he hesitates as if he’s not sure he really wants to say what he does next, “- even if that means you leave me sometimes, if only physically.”  
This is everything that Costis had assured Kamet would be said, but hearing his king say it to him was an immense relief. It was not as if he had promised Kamet anything more than his affection, and even that promise hadn’t been verbalised, but he still felt he needed to know that he could offer a promise for more, if Kamet wished for it. If Kamet ever wished to speak to him again. Eugenides is speaking again, his voice low and careful.  
“You know you are free to leave me at anytime?” he says, “You are under no obligation to be my lover, if you would prefer to live your life without the complications of-”  
Costis has been much angrier in his life, angry enough that he’d punched this man before, but this time he only lifts his hands to cover Eugenides’ mouth.  
“Not even my loyalty to the crown could put me in your bed if I didn’t want it,” he says, voice hard with emotion, “of all the people who have tried to imply that I am only yours because you are king -I did not expect you to be one. Do you really think the queen would have given me her blessing if she thought I would hurt you by not returning your love? I have no intentions or desire to ever leave you. Not like that.”  
“Costis,” Eugenides says, peeling Costis’ hand from his mouth, “I wasn’t accusing you of - of planning on leaving me mid-fuck. I was just trying to give you a future out if you needed it.” He pauses, face taut, squeezed Costis’ hand so tight he could feel his finger bones grinding together, “I am sorry for offending you. I was simply trying to - I mess with you life enough already without adding in this-” he waves his hand vaguely at the two of them, “-I only meant to - never mind what I meant.I am sorry.”  
This is not exactly how Costis had imagined their night to go.  
“So am I,” he mumbled, leaning forwards until his forehead met Eugenides’, “sorry, that is. I didn’t mean to be so angry.”  
Eugenides replies with something very sensible.  
“What of Kamet?” he asks, “If he too wants a life with you as I suspect he must, what does he think of sharing you?”  
It is not something they had discussed at length, and with the new information Costis had that Kamet had in fact planned to leave him in Sukir rather than coming with him to Attolia, he had no idea if he knew at all what Kamet would think about the situation. When they had begun their relationship up in the snow of the Taymets Costis had assumed, after the initial blow up, that Kamet was fine with his relationship with the king. Now that he knew that Kamet never even planned on coming to Attolia it was a lot harder to gauge his mood.  
“I had thought he was...content with it. I- he would not ask me to give you up though. If he doesn’t want, if he can’t be with me with the knowledge that at the same time I will always be -yours - well-” it was altogether too hard to be speaking in so many hypotheticals.  
“I apologise again,” Eugenides said softly, saving Costis from trying to make sense of his own thoughts, “you’ve not had time yet to discuss it with him since your...arrival. I will try to be less suspicious, and you ought to try and be less pessimistic,” he adds, not unkindly. 

 

Late the following morning after he had breakfasted with Aris and some others from the guard, Costis finds himself back in the royal apartments, fully dressed this time, as he sits and talks with his queen.  
He sits on a low chair by her bed, she’s sitting up against carefully arranged pillows again. This time she’s on top of the opulent covers, but a shawl is draped over her legs, and Phresine is sitting on the other side of the bed to Costis with another blanket on her lap. When he was ushered into the room Phresine had given him a warning look and told him not to wear her out.  
“I have an awful feeling,” Irene tells him once Costis has settled back in his chair after leaning forward to press a light kiss to her cheek.  
He frowns. “Oh?”  
“My darling husband is plotting something, and I have an idea it is to do with you and Kamet,” she tells him, the barest flicker of a smile on her face.  
“Has he said something?” Costis asks.  
“Well,” Irene shakes her head, “not verbally. I’m sorry all I can pass on to you is my suspicion. I am reasonably confident however, that he isn’t going to make you do anything as embarrassing as punching someone in the middle of a conversation.”  
Costis rolled his eyes, “That is good to hear,” he says sarcastically, then, very seriously, “Kamet does not deserve any more violence.”  
The queen ducks her head in acknowledgement, presses her fingers into the loose weave of her blanket.  
“I often wondered,” she said in a low voice, “what my life would have been like if I had not trusted Eugenides to save me from the Mede. Or even if Nahuseresh had simply killed him outright when they took the camp. I learned very quickly that it does not bear thinking about.”  
They sit in silence together for a few moments before Irene looks up again and smiles at him.  
“Tell me about your journey. I don’t need to hear the politically important pieces, those have all been filled in, I want to be entertained.”  
Costis thinks that it’s very likely that half her visitors recently must have been extremely staid, varying between doctors and royal reports. He smiles, thinks first of Kamet yelling about his imminent death in neck high water. Maybe he had learned more of the context around the terror Kamet must have felt at the time at a later date, but the memory of the glare Kamet had sent him after finding his footing still brought a smirk to his face, so he began the story there. 

While he was aware, of course, of the need to make sure his reports of his time in Medea were as accurate and informative as possible, he had somehow forgot how much talking and time this would take. He had been debriefed initially by the king and his spy-master, and then by Teleus and Relius together, and then by Teleus alone, and then by the entire guard - although they didn’t receive much more information than, ‘it was very hot and sandy.’

While none of this was unexpected, it was still exhausting - in a much different way to trudging up and down hills and standing on guard duty, and he found himself overly pleased to reach his bed after each day of semi interrogation. He hadn’t had time to seek Kamet out, nor the energy for it. In all honesty he felt as if he was still fighting off the remnants of the illness that had struck him down in Zaboar. It had subsided greatly on the ship while he had nothing to do but rest and think - but now the stresses of politics and general castle living was tugging the scratch back into his throat. He very firmly ignored it until the morning of his fifth day back, his debriefing complete, and a request to visit the queen in her chambers arrived in the form of one of her attendants in his barracks doorway. 

He had been sitting on the edge of his bed, leaning across the small space so as to write on the desk - a letter to his father, letting him now he had arrived back in Attolia safely, and would come to visit in the next week. Eugenides had appeared in his rooms the night previous, laughed at Costis’ yawns, kissed his forehead firmly, and told him he ought to see his family.  
He smiled up at Iolanth and put his pen down, after she delivered her message, and was standing waiting for him to follow her. Then he frowned.  
“The queen is still quite ill, isn’t she?” he said tersely, feeling the words rub against his throat, and Iolanth nodded.  
“Quite,” she replied, “not too ill to talk though,” she added, as if she thought this was Costis’ problem.  
“No,” Costis nodded, “It is just-” he shook his head and grimaced up at her, “I am worried I am sick with some sort of cough. I’m not sure it should be risked while her health is still so-”  
Iolanth nodded, stepped back, “I will speak to the queen, although I think you might be correct. Petrus would advise against it anyway, I am sure. Should I send him to you to look you over?” 

Costis might have been the king’s lover, but it did not need to be made so obvious by having the royal physician tend to him over something so small as a sore throat. He shook his head, and Iolanth left. 

After he finished writing his letter, he waited for another hour in his rooms, just in case Iolanth or another attendant returned calling him to the queen anyway, and then when no one seemed to be coming, he made his way out of the barracks to post his letter, and then to go join Aris for lunch in the mess.  
Aris pressed his thumbs into the dark circles under Costis’ eyes, as if he could wipe them away, and scrutinised his face carefully as Costis rolled his eyes and batted him away.  
“I told you I had been ill,” he said, “it just hasn’t entirely left yet.”  
“You should go see Petrus,” Aris suggested, refilling Costis’ water cup, and Costis rolled his eyes again.  
“Oh yes,” he said, “and I’m sure that would be easily explained to the court - why a lieutenant is privy to the king’s own physician.”  
“Please,” Aris scoffed, “You are the king’s own guard, his right hand,” he added teasingly, “the court expects their monarchs to show favour occasionally.”  
“Aris,” Costis warned, “you know why I don’t want any favours that might draw attention.”  
Aris sighed, “Well at least go see the barracks physician, the butcher he is.”  
“I might,” Costis agreed, “now, weren’t you going to tell me about why Damon has no eyebrows?”  
“Oh yes- well-”

 

After lunch, Aris returned to duty, and Costis decided the best course of action would be to sleep some more, after all, it had been exhaustion that had brought the sickness back, it would likely go away again once he was more refreshed. Therefore, it was with some irritation that Costis woke up to realise that he was not after all feeling better or refreshed. The rawness in his throat seemed to have stretched right up into his skull, scraping along the front of his head in a throbbing headache. He would have cursed that damned miller again, but he feared that letting himself get angry would only encourage the headache. He closed his eyes again, went back to sleep grumpily. 

When he opened his eyes again, he couldn’t tell at first whether it was the pain in his head that had woken him, or the weight on his feet. He squinted at the figure sitting at the end of his bed in the dark.  
“I thought you would go see a physician,” the king said mildly, and Costis closed his eyes again, “Irene told me that Iolanth said that you were feeling ill, and while I admire your foresight in avoiding infecting your queen, I thought you would then take the next logical step and endeavour to look after yourself.”  
Costis opened his mouth to speak, but his tongue was dry in his mouth. The king sighed.  
“Can you sit?” he asked, and Costis pushed himself up on his elbows, ignoring the swaying sensation in his head, and propped himself back against the wall as the king, not leaning closer, pressed a warm cup into his hand.  
“Lemon honey,” he said, “for your throat.”  
While Costis drank, Eugenides continued to speak.  
“I assumed you wouldn’t go to see Petrus, but I know you are well aware of the barracks physician, and I know that Aristigiton told you you ought to see him.”  
Costis shrugged, “So,” he said, “I was feeling reasonably well this morning,” he defended himself, “I thought a nap would be enough.”  
“Costis,” Eugenides said, and Costis shut his mouth and then his eyes, “I am reasonably certain that you have snapped at me on countless occasions for not going to Petrus when I ought to. I am not happy about getting to repay the favour.”  
“You’re worried about me,” Costis said over the rim of his cup and Eugenides glared at him.  
“Of course,”  
“Why? It’s nothing serious.”  
“Kamet told me how ill you were in Zaboar,” Eugenides said, “he told me he thought you would die. Did he tell you that?”  
“Oh,” Costis replied, “no, he did not. But, Gen,” he said, softer now, “I’m in no danger, there was no access to physicians or much cleanliness in Zaboar-”  
“Yes,” Eugenides interrupted, “but you realise that by not taking advantage of the physicians here you are in the same predicament as in Zaboar.”  
He was being absolutely far too dramatic about this, Costis told him so.  
“I don’t want to have to be the one to tell Kamet that you died from a sore throat because you couldn’t be bothered getting medicine,” Eugenides snapped back.  
“Well you won’t have to,” Costis grumbled, his head pounding so abominably it was causing whirls of nausea to press in his stomach and against his lungs, “because I have no intention of dying.”  
“In my experience, intention often has nothing to do with it.”  
“Gen-”  
“People die all the time,” Eugenides pressed on, “from all sorts of mundane causes. Exposure, measels, child birth, flu, fever, falling-” he paused as Costis put his hand over his.  
For a brief moment Costis worried that Eugenides would pull his hand away, but then the king shifted their hands so that their palms were pressing together and their fingers laced.  
“I’m not going to die,” Costis said firmly, or as firmly as he could while his voice was thin and reedy, “and I will see the physician tomorrow, I swear it.”  
Eugenides was silent for a long moment, and Costis took the opportunity to consider all those in his king’s life he had lost, suddenly, mundanely, inevitably.  
“I want to kiss you,” Eugenides said eventually, “but I am on strict orders from Petrus, Teleus, Relius, my father, and my wife not to get sick.”  
“I second those orders,” Costis mumbled, “as much as I want to kiss you as well.”  
“I fear this is as close as I can get to you safely at the moment,” Eugenides added, glancing down at their linked hands in the long gap between them, and Costis nodded. “Which is all the more reason for you to go to the physician soon so I don’t have to be so cautious.”  
“Alright, alright,” Costis sighed, smiled, squeezed the king’s hand tightly in his.  
“I am going to send Aristigiton to escort you to the physician tomorrow,” Eugenides said primly, “just in case.”  
They were silent again then, comfortably so, while Costis took another long drink from the cup, and Eugenides ran his thumb over the inside of Costis’ wrist.  
“How is Kamet?” Costis asked, and Eugenides lifted one shoulder.  
“Not ill,” he snarked, and Costis risked his headache to roll his eyes.  
“He’s very busy,” Eugenides relented, “which is, of course, my fault. He is assisting us by giving us a very in depth inside view of our future war.”  
“Of course,” Costis said, regretting rolling his eyes as his eyeballs now felt somehow nauseous.  
“He is even cleverer than I remembered,” Eugenides said with a smile, “and I remembered him very clever.”  
“He is,” Costis agreed.  
“You should speak to him,” Eugenides said, “once you are better, of course.”  
Costis frowned, “I would prefer he came to me,” he said slowly, so as not to aggravate his nausea, “I do not want to pressure him.”  
His eyes were firmly closed, so he did not see Eugenides’ corresponding frown, but he knew it was there anyway.  
“My love,” Eugenides said, then paused, changed tack, “you need more rest,” he said, “and water.” He stood then, to cross the room to fetch the jug of water Costis kept at his desk, and filled Costis’ now empty cup. Once Costis had drunk more, Eugenides refilled the cup and placed it in easy reach while Costis shuffled his way back down the bed to lie down, then reached out again for Eugenides’ hand.  
“Gen,” he said, and Eugenides took his hand, let Costis draw him close enough to press a dry kiss against his knuckles, then to his palm, and then once more on his wrist.  
“I will have to wash my hand,” Eugenides teased, and Costis snorted.  
“You should wash your hand regardless,” he replied as Eugenides tugged his hand out of his grip, only to press the back of it against Costis’ forehead, and then to tangle his fingers into his hair.  
“You have a fever,” he said, and Costis shrugged.  
“I’ll see the physician in the morning,” he said.  
“I could fetch him now,” Eugenides suggested.  
“In the morning,” Costis repeated, “go to bed, Eugenides.”  
Eugenides stood there, hand in Costis’ hair, and then nodded, “If you die overnight from fever I will be very upset,” he warned.  
“Yes, my king,” Costis mumbled.  
“I love you,”  
“Yes, my king,”  
“Costis,”  
“I love you too.” 

In the morning, just as Eugenides had threatened, Aris arrived like a small thundercloud by Costis’ bed to inveigle him out of it.  
“Gods damn,” Costis grumbled as his feet hit the ground and the nausea seemed to be starting in the soles of his feet, “I feel as if I have been awarded an entire army’s hangover.”  
“You look it too,” Aris said kindly, helping Costis into his tunic, “why in Miras’ name did you not go to the physician yesterday?”  
“I have already had this discussion with the king,” Costis pointed out dolefully, “we don’t need to repeat it.”  
“I suppose your idiocy has already repaid you in full,” Aris agreed, doing Costis’ sandles up while Costis glowered down at him. 

The physician repeated Aris and the king’s annoyance once they arrived, and Costis gave up on attempting to defend himself, and instead resigned himself to being prodded. Mostly by the physician, but occasionally by Aris when he was feeling slightly bored and the physician’s back was turned.  
By the time Aris was escorting him back, Costis was again entirely exhausted, refused to go to the mess to eat and insisted Aris simply returned him and his medicine to his bunk and leave him to wilt in peace.  
Aris did take him back to bed, and left him for long enough that Costis did feel quite wilty, but then returned with breakfast and a stern expression.  
“I have the day off,” he informed Costis, Costis frowned, “I spoke to Teleus. The king spoke to Teleus. I’m to stay with you,”  
“That’s not exactly a day off,” Costis pointed out.  
“I asked for it,” Aris shrugged, “don’t complain.”  
Costis attempted not to complain.  
The medicine helped subdue the headache, and quelled the nausea enough to allow him to eat a little of the breakfast, but he was still far too light headed and lead limbed to do much more than sleep and mumble occasionally in reply to Aris’ light banter. By early afternoon he was verging on snippy, and Aris laughed at him.  
“How many times have you complained about how petulant the king is while sick?”  
“I’m not being petulant,” Costis replied, not petulantly.  
“Well I suppose you’ve not drugged me asleep so you can escape yet,” Aris conceded. 

While Aris was away retrieving dinner, Eugenides appeared again in his room, this time lingering in the doorway, just inside the curtain.  
“You’re looking better already,” he said in greeting.  
“So, so, so,” Costis replied, “apparently medicine is a miracle.”  
“I can’t stay.” He was indeed dressed as if he were on his way to dinner, and Costis nodded.  
“Of course,” he said, “you should go.”  
“Yes,” Eugenides nodded, then crossed the room quickly, only to falter by his bed, “I still can’t kiss you,” he said.  
“Not safely, no,” Costis grimaced.  
“Get better quicker,” Eugenides grumbled, lifted his hand to Costis’ face, “I will come back when I can.” 

“It smells expensive in here,” Aris observed when he returned, “did the king visit?” 

Aris returned to his duties the next day, but it took Costis a full three days before the physician declared him entirely well, and he spent the majority of those three days stuck in bed. While in bed he bided his time writing out some of the more interesting bits of his journeys, being talked at by Aris and a few others of his friends that dropped by throughout the days to fill him in on castle gossip and bring him food, and reading. The king came by twice more, the first time to ask if he could bring anything, and the second time to bring Costis some scrolls he had of Immakuk and Ennikar.  
“They aren’t Kamet’s translations, of course,” Eugenides warned, “and they’re translations from the coast so they’re probably not even that good, but still enjoyable.”  
Costis had shrugged, thanked him, pressed kisses into his palm.  
“You could ask Kamet if he would come and tell you he stories himself,” Eugenides suggested.  
“I wouldn’t want to get him sick.” 

 

Even after Costis was well enough to be out of bed and breathing on people again, he didn’t get to make much use of it. Teleus had told him during his debriefing that he was officially on holiday, and would remain so until after he had visited his family, and so his days were strangely empty. He knew the king was busy with meetings, and with the queen, and the queen was exhausted from her own illness, and with being kept updated about the meetings, and so he saw neither of them. Aris of course, was on duty for large parts of the day, as were his other friends.  
He spent a lot of his time thinking about Kamet.  
More specifically, he spent a lot of his time thinking about how Kamet had told Eugenides he had thought that Costis was going to die.  
Even more specifically, he spent a lot of his time trying to figure out how that would have come up in conversation.

He knew Kamet was spending most of his time in meetings as well. Not often with the king, but often enough that he was seeing him more than Costis. Aris had mentioned him occasionally to Costis, sometimes his squad was assigned to Kamet’s rooms.  
“He is quite lovely,” Aris had said conversationally the last evening Costis was still confined to his bed, and Costis had stared at Aris in horror. “I could pass on a message for you, if you would life,” he added.  
“Don’t,” Costis had offered. 

He wanted to talk to Kamet. Very much so. But he wanted Kamet to come to him. Maybe that wasn’t fair, but he wasn’t sure it would be fair for him to go to Kamet either. If Kamet did not want to talk to him, if he was still angry about how foolish Costis had been, if what they had had had not been what Costis thought it was- he did not want to involve Kamet in a scene. Image was very important to Kamet.  
He suspected that these were all quite thin excuses. 

The third night, Eugenides sent him a message, and Costis followed the message back up to the king's’ apartments, stepping carefully into secluded passages and behind false panelling slowly as he recalled the moves to get quietly into the rooms.  
He was barely out of the small doorway before Eugenides’ mouth was on his.  
“Thank the gods-” Eugenides mumbled into his lips, “-that you’re better.”  
Pulling away a little, Costis grinned down at him, “Because you’re glad I’m well, or because now you can kiss me without getting sick?”  
“Can’t it be both?”  
“Of course.” 

Eugenides was already in his night clothes, hook removed, and it was an easy business pushing away from the door Eugenides had crowded him against, and maneuvering them both to the bed, rucking up the night shirt as he went until Eugenides was all bare skin up to his chest.  
He shuddered as Costis pressed him bodily against the bed, embroidery scratching at his naked back, shuddered, then pressed harder against it, tugging at Costis to pull him further onto him. Mouthing wetly at Eugenides’ throat, Costis worked the laces of the night shirt with one hand, his other skating down Eugenides’ side, dipping over his ribs, into the hollow of his hip, to grasp him by the arse and yank him closer still. 

 

Afterwards, they lay together on top of the rumpled blankets, Eugenides slumped chest to chest on top of him. The both of them were uncomfortably sticky but unwilling to do anything about it yet.  
“Kamet asked after you today,” Eugenides said suddenly into the quiet surrounding them, and Costis jerked - surprised both by the sudden conversation and the topic.  
He shifted a little under Eugenides’ weight so as to look him in the face, and raised his eyebrows.  
“Oh?”  
“Apparently he overheard his guards saying you were ill, he was worried.”  
“Oh.”  
“Costis,”  
Costis sighed heavily, and then said, “The queen is under the impression you have some cunning plun,” he paused to take in Eugenides’ expression - utterly blank - “I would like to know what it is.”  
“It’s not very cunning,” Eugenides replied vaguely and Costis glared. “I wouldn’t have to think of plans if you would just go talk to him,” he protested.  
“I love you,” Costis said, “but if you insist on meddling, and then not telling me how, I am absolutely going to not kiss you again for at least -” he paused, aware that he wanted to be able to keep this threat, “-an hour.”  
Eugenides laughed, then shifted in his arms to press a quick kiss to Costis’ jaw.  
“Alright,” he conceded, “but let me reiterate, it’s not very cunning.”  
“Are you ever?”  
“Uncalled for- alright, fine. Kamet is not going to want to stay in Attolia for very long, I do not think-”  
“Has he said something?” Costis asked, face dropping, Eugenides shook his head.  
“No - but I know him. I was thinking, that if he wants to do some more work for the crown, I would ask him to go to Roa. There is a temple scribe job there which I feel he would enjoy as well.”  
“So-?” Costis prompted, “Is this your cunning plan, or are we not there yet?”  
“It’s part of it. I was going to send you with him.”  
“You were what?” Costis snapped, pushing himself more upright, and glowering down at him, “You were going to send me away? Again? Kamet might not even want me.”  
“Costis-” Eugenides shifted up onto his knees, placed his hand against Costis’ chest in an attempt to pacify him, “love, I wouldn’t have sent you if you didn’t agree,”  
“You might,” Costis countered, and Eugenides shrugged in uncomfortable agreement.  
“I don’t want to send you away,” he said instead, “I would prefer you stay here. With me.”  
“So,” Costis frowned all the more, “the reason your plan is not cunning is because no one likes it, then?”


End file.
